


Bruce Wayne’s Guide to Correct Behavior

by King_Richard



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: 1870s AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Richard/pseuds/King_Richard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of the 1870s. Bruce needs to hire a tutor for his newfound son Damian, and no one is up for the job ... except Dick Grayson. Bruce finds himself falling in love with his son's attractive tutor, but that just isn't proper!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts), [kleine_aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/gifts).



> So I just read a groovy romance novel called The Duke’s Guide to Correct Behavior, by Megan Frampton, in which a new “I-never-expected-to-inherit-so-I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing” Duke (classic romance novel trope, there!) has his illegitimate daughter show up on his doorstep. Wanting to do the right thing, he hires a governess for her and promptly falls in love with said governess. The entire time I read it, I thought, “this would make a good Dick/Bruce story.” Therefore, I’m repurposing this romance novel into a Bruce/Dick story because a) I love reading Bruce/Dick and b) I haven’t written one myself and need to give back. Since I’m not the best at writing romance, though, I’m easing into it by loosely following the plot of the novel (some parts have been obviously changed. Before the illegitimate child was a little angel; Damian obviously is not). Since romance novels are often known for their hilarious dialogue, I will bold everything that is a direct quote and give a citation in the notes.
> 
> This is set in the 1800s, so let’s just pretend that same-sex marriage was an acceptable option back then. I don’t want that to be what threatens to keep Dick and Bruce apart. Like with so many romance novels, it has to be a secret that seems totally dire but totally isn’t to two people in love.

* * *

“Thank you for your time and efforts, Mr. Collins,” Bruce Wayne said in a tone much more polite than he felt. While he was grateful for the man’s efforts, Bruce would have been a bit more grateful if the tutor had lasted more than 2 hours. “Please take this as a token of my appreciation.” Bruce handed over a stack of bills that was much more than anyone could reasonably expect for two hours of work – unless those two hours of work involved Bruce’s son. “My butler, Alfred, has a carriage waiting to take you back into Gotham City.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne,” the flustered educator replied, folding the bills neatly and tucking them into his coat pocket. “I do regret that I could not work with Master Damian. I pride myself on my skills with difficult children, but …” Mr. Collins trailed off, although his implication was clear: Damian is beyond education.

 

“Yes, well. I appreciate the effort.” Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was the 5th tutor this week – a new one every day. “You wouldn’t happen to have any colleagues you could recommend?”

 

Mr. Collins coughed. “I do not, sir.” He straightened and fixed Bruce with a withering stare. “For the sake of my colleagues.”

 

Bruce frowned. He knew Damian was difficult, but did the man have to be quite so withering about it? “In that case, farewell. Best of luck with your future endeavors.” Bruce then sat down at his desk and began shuffling around his papers. Collins got the hint, muttered a demure farewell of his own, and made himself scarce.

 

“No luck with that one, either, Master Bruce?” Bruce’s butler, the redoubtable Alfred Pennyworth, strode into the room, carrying a tray with a mug of coffee and a small flask. Bruce gave the tiniest of smiles when he saw the tray. Alfred always knew just what he needed.

“I’m afraid not, old friend,” Bruce sighed, pouring a generous amount of whiskey into his coffee. He took a swig, closed his eyes to savor the mingling of the two delicious flavors, then leaned back in his chair. Opening his eyes, he turned to Alfred. “I’m at a loss for what to do. Collins was the fifth tutor this week to come to the Manor, but he’s the eighth one I contacted.”

 

“Master Damian’s reputation has preceded him?”

 

“Yes.” Bruce picked up a letter that laid half-buried under the accounts for Wayne Shipping. “One prospective tutor replied,” Bruce raised the letter to read from it, “that he was ‘not in the business of teaching undisciplined rapscallions.’”

 

Alfred chuckled. “I believe that might even be putting things mildly, sir. Master Damian did nearly stab Wednesday’s tutor with his scimitar.”

 

Bruce groaned and dropped his head into his hands. It was a clear sign it had been a bad week that he had almost forgotten about _that_ incident. “Where else can I turn, Alfred? Damian’s clearly not ready for the Academy” – here Bruce was referencing the elite, private, boys’ boarding school he had attended in his youth, after the death of his parents – “socially anyway. He’s smart enough, but no school will have him.”

 

“Indeed, sir. Schools often have the tedious requirement of not wanting to admit pupils with a propensity to maim the other students.”

 

Bruce frowned. Apparently the situation had moved beyond Alfred’s dry quips, into crisis territory.

 

“Have you contacted Ms. Gordon, Master Bruce? You do recall that in her years since her illness she has run an employment agency specializing in finding domestic help?”

 

“I’m looking for a tutor, Alfred, not a lady’s maid. How could Barbara possibly help?”

 

“Her connections in the city are deep and wide, Master Bruce. You ignore them at your own peril.” When Bruce failed to look immediately convinced, Alfred added, “A desperate man welcomes any life-raft he is offered.”

* * *

 

Barbara Gordon was filing away some paperwork when she heard the front bell of her employment agency jangle. Thinking it was her assistant Wally West returning with their sandwiches, she called out, “Back here, Wally!” Instead of a wild red-headed, though, she was greeted with a quiet, respectful, voice asking, “Ms. Gordon?”

 

A customer or an applicant then, Barbara thought. “One moment, please!” She called out, as she expertly maneuvered her wheelchair out from behind the desk and out front.

 

Her eyebrows rose precipitately when she noticed the fine dress and Wayne Crest on the uniform of the footman who stood in her office. Well this is interesting, she thought.

 

“I’m Barbara Gordon,” she announced. “How may I help you?”

 

The footman’s eyes widened when he saw the wheelchair, but he quickly recovered. More quickly than most people, Barbara thought wryly. It was amazing – in a bad way – the number of people who seemed shocked that the disease that had wasted Barbara’s legs to the point where she could no longer walk hadn’t wasted her brain. People seemed to think the wheelchair was in some way a comment on her mental capabilities and seemed surprised that she ran an employment agency.

 

The footman held out a sealed letter to Barbara. “I am here on behalf of my employer, Mr. Bruce Wayne. He requires a tutor for his son.”

 

Barbara smiled. First, it was amusing how reverently the footman had said his employer’s name – almost as if Bruce were royalty. Although in Gotham City, Bruce Wayne probably was the closest thing to a king. Second, Barbara had sort-of been preparing for this letter since she had heard a few days ago about the arrival of Bruce’s son. Word throughout Gotham was that the ten-year-old boy was a hellion, who was tearing through Gotham’s stock of male tutors the way a dog does a bone. Barbara figured it was only a matter of time before Bruce came knocking at her door.

 

And she was ready. Barbara Gordon had a perfect placement record. In her two years in business, not one customer had been dissatisfied with the employees Barbara had vetted. And she wasn’t about to have her perfect record foiled by a pain-in-the-ass rich brat.

 

Barbara speed-read Bruce’s missive. It said everything she had predicted it would. He was looking for a tutor to privately educate his son in literature, history, writing, foreign languages, physical pursuits, mathematics, and natural philosophy. Bruce made only one oblique reference to his son’s reputation by requesting she send a tutor with “fortitude.” Indeed.

 

Barbara looked up at the waiting footman. “You may give Mr. Wayne my sincerest thanks for thinking of my agency in his time of need. Please also inform him that I will have a tutor sent to Wayne Manor in time for tea.”

* * *

 

Richard “Dick” Grayson was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing his lunch, and reading the newspaper to Jim Gordon, Barbara’s father and Gotham’s former police commissioner. Dick really owed Jim and Barbara, who had helped him to make something of himself when he had first shown up in Gotham City six years ago, a penniless, bedraggled mess, who was newly orphaned at age 18. Dick had really been in a pickle then. Although his mother and father had met in the United States, Dick had been born in France, where his parents were with Haly’s Circus. Dick had spent the first 18 years of his life in Europe and the Ottoman Empire, traveling with the circus and performing with his parents as one third of “The Flying Graysons,” an act that performed death-defying acrobatics and trapeze routines without the aid of a net. They had been wonderful, performing for crowds across Europe, and giving private performances to royalty as varied as the Ottoman sultan to the Austro-Hungarian emperor to German princes to the queen of England. And while Dick had never had any formal schooling, he had a knack for languages, which he had picked up by the dozen traveling throughout Europe and the Ottoman Empire (not to mention living in a multi-ethnic circus). His knowledge of history was good, given that he had crisscrossed Europe numerous times, and he had a firm grounding in mathematics (helping Mr. Haly, the owner, with the accounting) and natural science (helping care for the many animals).

 

Dick had been content to live his entire life with his parents in the circus, when tragedy struck. Haly’s Circus returned to the United States after a 20-year absence when Dick was 18. About 3 months into their tour, his family’s trapeze lines were sabotaged in Virginia. Dick, and the circus folk, knew it was murder, but circumstances prevented them from making a complaint and forcing an investigation. With his parents dead, the act ruined, and his life on the line, Dick bid Mr. Haly and his circus family farewell, and fled. He ended up in Gotham City.

 

With no money, no connections, and no family, Dick had no idea what to do with himself – other than flee Virginia and danger. Consequently, when he arrived in Gotham, he sought a place where he thought he could hide: the stacks of the library. Dick hadn’t counted on Barbara Gordon, the watchful head librarian, who quickly caught on that he was hiding in the rafters in order to sleep in the library after closing. But instead of turning Dick in as a vagabond, Barbara took him home, where she lived with her father, Police Commissioner James Gordon.

 

Barbara and Jim quickly realized that Dick was incredibly smart, if a little unversed in the ways of formal education. Making Dick her mission, Barbara spent a couple of months whipping Dick into shape, making him read the literature and history books he would need to know to attend college in the fall at Gotham State University.

 

Dick sailed through his liberal arts education at Gotham State, doing odd jobs all the while to help pay his tuition and to repay the Gordons for their generosity. His final year of college, he had nearly quit; that was the year Barbara came down with her illness and Jim was shot in the line of duty. Dick wanted to quit classes to stay home and nurse them both, but both insisted he finish his schooling. Dick had done so, and Barbara and Jim had both recovered. After graduation, Dick continued to live with Barbara and Jim; they were now the only family he had. He helped Barbara with her employment agency and took care of Jim, since much of Dick’s work could be done from home. Dick had a special role in Barbara’s business – he fabricated letters of recommendation for immigrants. Barbara’s main goal with her business was to assist the downtrodden in finding work, and many of the downtrodden were new immigrants to Gotham, who hadn’t managed to get letters of reference from their foreign employers when they left their homelands. No matter. Dick wrote a mean reference and he had yet to have an immigrant come in the door speaking a language he didn’t know.

 

“Listen to this Jim: President Grant might be coming to Gotham City next month! What do you think of that?”

 

Before Jim could reply, the kitchen door banged open and Wally West entered. He took one look at Dick and threw up his hands in dismay.

 

“It’s after noon, Dick, and you still aren’t properly dressed!”

 

Dick laid down the paper. “Lovely to see you, too, Wally. And why should it matter what I’m wearing in the kitchen with Jim?” Honestly, Dick didn’t think he was that underdressed. What was the point in wearing a vest, jacket, and tie in the privacy of your own home? Surely trousers and a shirt would suffice.

 

Wally waved his hand around exasperatedly while simultaneously nodding a quick greeting to Jim. “Because you’ve got a job!”

 

“I have?” This was news to him.

 

Wally nodded. “Yes, Barbara is sending you to Wayne Manor to be the new tutor to Bruce Wayne’s son. I’m under strict orders to make sure you are at your most presentable, and don’t wear anything too outlandish or ‘too European’.” “Too European” was how Barbara referred to Dick’s odder sartorial choices. It wasn’t Dick’s fault American men were content to wear the most boring fashions coming out of Paris.

 

Dick didn’t think he had ever dressed and packed a small bag so quickly. Fifteen minutes later, Wally had hustled him to the employment agency so Barbara could give him the once over before sending him off.

 

She frowned. “You had to wear that sapphire blue waistcoat?”

 

“What?” Dick threw up his hands in mock outrage. “It’s my favorite one. And it brings out the color of my eyes.” Dick flashed Barbara a brilliant grin and batted his eyelashes at her. Despite his playful flirting, the two were not an item. Barbara saw Dick as a younger brother and Dick wasn’t interested in women in that way.

 

“I’m sending you there to be Wayne’s employee, not his lover,” Barbara snapped.

 

“Well, you never get a second chance to make a first impression,” Dick quipped before the full import of Barbara’s words hit him. “Is Wayne interested in men?”

 

Wally laughed while Barbara’s frown deepened. “You,” she jabbed her finger at Dick, “are there to teach his hellion of a son. Succeed and you will be the most famous tutor in Gotham. Succeed and the future of this agency will be assured.”

 

“Oh is that all?” Dick laughed nervously. “And how much of a ‘hellion’ is this boy?” Dick had a soft spot for children; he had pronounced “hellion” with distaste because he found it hard to imagine a child could actually be a hellion. Barbara had a feeling Damian Wayne wasn’t going to be the only person in for an education.

 

“You’ll be the 6th tutor since Monday,” Barbara replied matter-of-factly.

 

“Since this Monday!?” Dick yelped.

 

“Yes. But I have faith in you Dick. You helped my dad and me through our darkest hours. You’re smart and patient and kind.” She paused as she heard the rumbling of a carriage outside. “Now go. Your carriage awaits and I told Wayne you would arrive in time for tea.”

 

Dick tipped his hat – the one with the ridiculous peacock plume – and moved to the door. “As you wish, my lady.” He turned to Wally. “Take good care of Babs and Jim, Wally!” And with that he was gone.

 

Wally and Barbara stood silently for a few seconds, listening to the carriage clatter away, taking Dick to his destiny.

 

“You think he’ll make it?” Wally asked.

 

Barbara grinned. “Of course. If anyone can get through to this kid, it will be Dick.”

 

Wally had picked up something lurking beneath Barbara’s grin. “You hoped this would happen, didn’t you?”

 

Barbara smirked. “Let’s just say I look forward to the match of wits that’s going to be taking place between Dick and Bruce Wayne’s stubborn ass of a son.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearing three o’clock, and Alfred Pennyworth was putting the finishing touches on a truly magnificent tea service. It had tea sandwiches, scones, cakes, jams, lemon curd, and clotted cream, as well as both tea and coffee. Alfred had to admit he had truly outdone himself. He just hoped this new tutor would be worth the trouble. Alfred had the utmost faith in Ms. Gordon, but … Damian had already been through an awful lot of tutors.

 

Just then there was a tapping on the front door. Although Alfred was exceptionally eager to meet this new tutor, he put on his most butler-y expression and opened the door.

 

On the porch stood a man a great deal younger than Alfred had expected. All of the previous tutors had been portly, balding, middle-aged men; this one was none of the above.

 

“The new tutor, I presume?” When this was confirmed with a nod, Alfred opened the door and invited the young man inside.

 

“I’m Richard Grayson, but you may call me ‘Dick,’” the young man – Dick – said, offering his hand to Alfred. Somewhat bemused, Alfred shook hands with him and introduced himself. He then helped Dick with his coat and hat ( _Is that a peacock feather?_ Alfred thought, torn between amusement and disdain). As Alfred tucked away Dick’s outwear, he surreptitiously gave Dick the once-over. The new tutor was, without doubt, the most trim and athletic young man Alfred had ever seen – and that included Master Bruce. _This could be very interesting, indeed_ , Alfred thought wryly.

 

“If you would follow me, Mr. Grayson. Master Bruce will see you in the tea room.”

 

“Of course.” Dick fell into step behind Alfred, impressed by also slightly unnerved at meeting an American who possessed a tea room.

 

Alfred rapped briskly on a half-closed door, then flung it wide open. “Master Bruce, I present Mr. Richard Grayson.”

 

Dick entered the room, as announced, while Bruce rose from the tea table to greet his (hopefully) newest employee.

 

After brief introductions, Bruce invited Dick to sit. Alfred saved them from momentary awkwardness by bringing in the tea service, which, after tea and refreshments were served, allowed both men a brief moment alone with their thoughts.

 

Although Dick had certainly heard of Bruce Wayne before, he had never seen him. He was now exceptionally glad he had. Bruce Wayne **was tall and very, very, very handsome. Extremely male. No, entirely and absolutely virile _._ 1** He was broad-shouldered, muscular, and massive. Behind his blue eyes lurked both steel and affection. Dick nearly swooned, but kept it together. _Thank you, Barbara_ , he thought. _I really owe you a nice bouquet or something for getting me this job!_

 

As for Bruce, he was stunned at how young and handsome the new tutor was. Mr. Grayson’s trim yet muscular body, brown skin, glossy black hair, and searing blue eyes were truly a wonder to behold. And while the tutor’s suit was a little out-of-date and veering on threadbare, it afforded Bruce a pretty good sense of the younger man’s body. _I bet his ass is fabulous_ , Bruce thought hungrily, before taking a sip of scalding hot tea to distract his thoughts.

 

“Your references,” Bruce demanded after a few minutes of quiet tea sipping.

 

Dick nearly spilled his tea as Bruce’s gruff voice had startled him out of … more pleasant thoughts. Gently placing his china cup on the table, Dick reached into his coat pocket. “Here you are, sir.”

 

Although Dick, Barbara, and Wally were not above fabricating letters of reference, Dick’s were all legitimate, consisting of a variety of glowing referrals from his professors at Gotham State University, who praised his scholastic aptitude and how he had overcome his disadvantaged upbringing. Dick didn’t consider his upbringing, in which he had been surrounded by people and animals who loved and adored him, to be a disadvantage in the slightest, but he understood that most Europeans and Americans regarded his circus background as an aberration. By this time, he had learned to roll with the punches.

 

Bruce scanned the references, found them to be in order, and handed them back. “I suppose you will do,” he announced as though he were doing Dick a tremendous favor.

 

Dick frowned slightly and arched an eyebrow. “I appreciate the enthusiastic approval, sir.”

 

Instead of responding, Bruce reached for the bell on the table beside him and rang it briskly. Moments later, Alfred appeared at the door.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Fetch Damian here.”

 

Awkward moments passed as Dick nibbled on a tea sandwich and wondered if he perhaps shouldn’t have responded with such blatant sarcasm (but really? Who did Wayne think he was? Dick had excellent references!). Bruce stared into his teacup and wondered why he had permitted this new tutor to get away with such impertinence. _I’m just desperate to find a tutor for Damian, that’s all_ , Bruce told himself. _It has nothing to do with how ridiculously attractive young Mr. Grayson is. Nothing at all._

 

Damian strode into the room without even allowing Alfred to announce him. “Father.” He looked at Dick in disdain, sneered, and added, “Newcomer.” Without being asked, Damian sat down in the third chair and served himself some tea.

 

“Damian, this is your new tutor, Mr. Grayson. Mr. Grayson, this is Damian.” Introductions over, teacher and student regarded one another.

 

Dick proffered his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Damian. I look forward to teaching you.”

 

Damian glared at Dick’s outstretched hand and made no move to shake it. “You’re awfully young for a tutor.”

 

“If the rumors I hear are true, you’re awfully young to be so … brilliant.”

 

_So Grayson is being diplomatic,_ Bruce thought.

 

“So we shall have to be young together,” Dick finished. When Damian didn’t reply, Dick added, “But if my relative youth is an insurmountable barrier to your education, I would be more than willing to assist your father in locating an older tutor.” Dick looked pensive. “Perhaps a retired professor from the university, although I doubt he would be much good with physical education.”

 

“No, no,” Damian cut in. On realizing he sounded a bit desperate, he added regally, “That won’t be necessary.”

 

Dick grinned at the child. “So you will accept me as your tutor?”

 

Damian looked startled at even having been asked (none of the other five tutors had), but he quickly hid it. “You will do.” He glared at Dick, although the glare was rather mild for Damian. “For now.”

 

“Excellent.” Dick reached over, attempting to affectionately ruffle Damian’s hair.

 

“Grayson!” Damian hissed, swatting the man’s hand away.

 

Before Bruce could open his mouth to reprimand Damian for not calling his tutor “Mr.”, Dick reached over and lightly touched Bruce’s hand. When their eyes met, there was mirth in Dick’s, and he gently shook his head “no,” indicating Bruce shouldn’t bother to scold Damian. Much as it pained Bruce to let such impropriety slide, he thought he could indulge the tutor’s whim on the first day. _Yes_ , Bruce insisted to himself. _I’m just being a generous host – employer! It has nothing to do with the tingling sensation Mr. Grayson’s brief contact caused._

 

Damian had apparently caught the brief and apparently-not-so-private moment between his father and new tutor. In response, he muttered something in Arabic. Before Bruce could admonish him not to speak in a language no one could understand, Dick replied in perfect Arabic. Damian’s eyes widened at that. Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. _Interesting_ , he thought. Grayson’s references had mentioned the young man knew multiple languages but hadn’t been any more specific.

 

“You know Arabic?” Damian asked hotly. Dick nodded his head and replied again in Arabic. Damian frowned, apparently not liking that he was no longer the only person in the house who knew that language.

 

Damian then started a back and forth with Dick. Bruce could only assume that Damian was asking Dick if he knew a given language in said language. Thus far, Dick replied with ease and grace. He was completely unfazed.

 

Eventually, Damian gave up. “You know a lot of languages,” he scowled.

 

“Thank you,” Dick replied graciously.

 

“Do you know more?” Damian asked, sounding interested despite himself.

 

“I do,” Dick conceded. “I grew up in Europe, so I also know French, German, Hungarian, Romanian, Italian …” Dick named a few more.

 

“I don’t believe you,” Damian said severely, crossing his arms.

 

Bruce opened his mouth but before he could reprimand Damian, Dick smoothly cut in. “You don’t have to believe me, Damian. Perhaps I can teach these languages to you and then you shall have empirical evidence.”

 

Damian frowned, considering. Finally, he relented. “Acceptable,” he huffed, then promptly shoved a scone in his mouth.

 

Bruce had watched in amazement, especially since Dick was now smiling fondly at Damian’s bent head. Was there truly light at the end of the tunnel?

* * *

 

Damian left part-way through tea, leaving Bruce and Dick alone again. Desperate to end the oppressive, awkward silence that Bruce seemed to favor, Dick thought he might as well ask about some of the requirements of the job.

“You have a schoolroom already, Mr. Wayne?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You have books and chalkboards and the like?”

 

“Yes.”

 

After an excruciatingly long series of pointed questions, Dick finally had all his answers but one.

 

“And how often would you like to meet to hear a report of Damian’s progress, sir?” _Please be every day, please be every day_.

 

Bruce paused, considering. Would every day be too much? He certainly enjoyed the prospect of spending that much time with Mr. Grayson, but that could be dangerous.

 

“Once a week should suffice,” Bruce began, noticing how Dick’s face fell. It was truly amazing how easy the younger man’s emotions were to read on his face. “But, given the present circumstances, I think me being apprised of Damian’s progress daily would not be amiss.”

 

Dick gave Bruce the most brilliant smile the millionaire had ever seen. “A wonderful suggestion, Mr. Wayne. Simply ideal.”

* * *

 

After tea, Alfred escorted Dick to his bed chamber.

 

“Mr. Penny-. Alfred,” Dick corrected after a look from the venerable butler, “are you sure this is the right chamber?” Dick was surprised to be given one of the bedrooms clearly intended for family.

 

“Indeed, Master Dick. Master Bruce was most insistent that you have a well-appointed chamber, suitable to your status as a university-trained scholar, and that you be near Master Damian.” Alfred didn’t add that he was certain Bruce had other reasons for wanting the tutor nearby – reasons that didn’t involve Damian.

 

“Where’s Damian’s chamber?”

 

Alfred gestured to a door two doors down. “Master Damian is right there.”

 

Dick nodded, looking at the door. “Very good.”

 

Alfred led Dick into the room and placed his carpetbag on the bed. “I shall give you some time to unpack. Dinner will be served in about one hour.”

 

Dick was about to protest that he had just gorged himself on tea-time treats, but Alfred had already vanished. Sighing, Dick made short work on storing his garments in the clothes press. He was chagrined to note he had forgotten his nightshirt in his haste to pack. He hoped that didn’t prove too awkward.

 

That task completed, Dick decided to venture down the hall and attempt to better acquaint himself with his new pupil. Drawing up outside Damian’s door, Dick took a deep breath and gently knocked.

 

“Who is it?” Damian growled.

 

“It is I, your tutor, Mr. Grayson.”

 

There was an audible huff from the other side of the door, but it was wrenched open nevertheless.

 

“What do you want?” Damian demanded, peevishness written all over his face.

 

“I thought perhaps we could become better acquainted.”

 

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

 

_Why?_ Dick was somewhat unprepared for the question. He decided to be honest. “Why wouldn’t I want to become better acquainted? If I’m to be your new tutor, we’ll be spending a great deal of time together. Oughtn’t we get to know one another?”

 

“What if I don’t want to get to know you?”

 

“That would be your loss, as I’m an excessively interesting person,” Dick shot back with an easy smile. “But why don’t we settle on a compromise? I will get to know you, and you can meditate on whether you would like to get to know me. Deal?” Dick gave Damian one of his most charming smiles.

 

Damian mulled the proposal over silently for nearly a full minute before answering. “Tt,” was all he said, but he opened his door and stalked into his chamber, giving Dick a clear signal to follow him.

 

Damian sat on his bed, scowling with his arms folded. Dick perched in a chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

 

“Tt. I’m Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne, and you can’t teach me anything.”

 

Dick didn’t rise to the bait. “Then this will be the easiest paycheck I have ever earned.”

 

The only clue Damian was surprised was the slight widening of his eyes – but it was quickly gone. “I had the best tutors when I lived with my mother. There’s nothing an American” – he said “American” with clear disdain – “can teach me. Unless that American is my father,” he added quickly.

 

Dick felt a pang of sadness. Damian clearly admired his father, but the two had clearly not connected yet. The two had been stiff around one another at tea, and Dick had noticed that any time Bruce seemed inclined to talk to Damian had been instances that required a reprimand. _We will have to work on that_ , Dick thought.

 

“Unluckily for you, Damian, I’m not American.” Dick gave his pupil a smug grin. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

 

“I doubt that,” Damian muttered to himself (but not quietly enough for Dick not to hear) in Arabic. “Tutors always leave.”

 

_Ah ha_ , Dick thought. _Suffering from a bit of instability, are we_. “Unfortunately, Damian, you shall have to put up with my continued presence,” Dick responded in Arabic, “as I have no one else to practice my Arabic with.” Melodramatically laying his hand to his forehead, Dick added, “And I simply can’t bear to let my skills go to waste.”

 

“They are nearly wasted already. Your pronunciation is dire.”

 

Dick knew his pronunciation was just fine, but Damian’s retort was providing him with valuable insight into the mind of his pupil.

 

“Alas,” Dick continued in Arabic, in the same dramatic vein. “It is almost too much for me to bear. You must help me Damian!”

 

“Tt.” Although the tone was dismissive, Damian was watching Dick’s antics with interest out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I beg you to help me!”

 

“I suppose I could,” Damian relented, sounding like he was doing Dick the biggest favor in the world. “Your Arabic is passable, unlike Father who can’t even pronounce a word correctly after I say it.”

 

Dick laid his hand over his heart. “I am honored, Damian.”

 

Damian sat up straight on the bed. “As you should be,” he replied haughtily.

 

At that moment, a bell rang.

 

“That’s dinner,” Damian pronounced. He looked at Dick. “You go down first. I’ll be along in a minute.” At Dick’s curious glance, the boy added, “I don’t want anyone to think I’ve been getting along with you.”

 

_Oh you precious thing with your hard exterior. I can’t wait to crack that_.

 

“As you wish, sir.” Dick swept an exaggerated stage bow, internally delighting at the “ridiculous” he heard Damian mutter. “I shall see you presently.” With that, he exited the room, pleased with this newfound knowledge of his pupil. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Dick was always willing to try to get through to a child.

 

_Especially when his father is so ridiculously handsome and virile,_ Dick mused before he began scolding himself (albeit half-heartedly) for such wanton thoughts.

* * *

 

After Damian had been sent, scowling and protesting, to bed, Bruce directed Dick to his study. “This is where I spend most of my time, so it behooves you to be acquainted with this room.”

 

Dick peeked his head in the door, taking in the fine mahogany paneling, the tall bookshelves, massive cherry desk, and supple leather armchairs and davenport. _If I owned a room like this, I would spend most of my time in it as well_.

 

“Lovely room, Mr. Wayne, sir,” Dick responded instead.

 

Bruce was silent for a moment, clearly debating something within himself, before he waved Dick into the room. “Won’t you come in and join me for a drink?”

 

Dick’s heart fluttered and he nearly screamed in delight. “I would be delighted,” he said as calmly as he could.

 

Dick sank into the lush leather armchair Wayne had indicated, nearly moaning in ecstasy as the soft leather cocooned his body. _Why on earth are so many rich people so crabby when they have furniture like this?_ Dick thought as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

 

Over at the sidebar, Bruce paused in pouring out two glasses of his favorite single-malt scotch. His eyes drank in Dick’s lean, muscular form, legs splayed in a most unprofessional – but sexy – fashion. _I’d like to push those legs apart even wider and grip those thighs hard enough to leave bruises_. Bruce unconsciously licked his lips just thinking about it. _And then I’ll stick my cock in there_ (boarding school had taught Bruce to appreciate the truly under-appreciated art of intercrural intercourse) _and –_

_AND STOP!_ Shouted the part of Bruce’s brain that was concerned with propriety and often sounded a lot like Alfred. _You will do no such thing! This is your son’s tutor, your employee. This is also the first tutor Damian had been able to stand for more than a few minutes. Do NOT ruin this for him!_

With his trousers feeling a tad tighter, Bruce finished pouring the scotch, set one down on the table beside Dick’s chair, and then sat down in the armchair across from him. Once Bruce had positioned himself so that his wilting erection was hidden, he spoke.

 

“Mr. Grayson? Your scotch is on the table.” _Every inch the good host._ Bruce thought, pleased with himself _. Excellent recovery._

 

“Oh, thanks,” Dick replied, sitting up properly. “I almost fell asleep there.” He laughed awkwardly. _Almost fell asleep dreaming of you, Mr. Wayne, while I wrap my legs around you and climb you like a very naked, muscular tree, nipping at your earlobes and –_

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Grayson.” It was an order, not a question.

 

Dick chuckled uneasily. “For starters, could you call me ‘Dick’?”

 

Bruce just looked at Dick, which totally unnerved the tutor. _Is he really going to insist on calling me ‘Mr. Grayson’? What a pompous jerk._

“I will, if you call me Bruce in settings where it is acceptable. Such as this.”

 

“Of course, Mr. -. Heh heh. Bruce.”

 

Bruce sipped his scotch, watching Dick over the rim of the glass. “Try the scotch and then proceed.”

 

Normally Dick would have been irritated at receiving so many meaningless orders, but something about Bruce’s gruff voice sent a shiver up his spine. “All right.”

 

Dick tentatively took a sip. _So far, so good. But now comes the real test – swallowing_. Dick allowed the scotch to slide down his throat, waiting for a burn that never came. From the other chair, Bruce’s mouth quirked in a smile as he watched multiple emotions dance across Dick’s face. _If he’s this expressive drinking a bit of scotch, imagine what he’ll be like in bed._

It was certainly in the best interest of Bruce’s propriety that Dick decided to announce “this scotch is very good” at that moment.

 

“I should think so, as much as it costs,” Bruce nearly snapped. He instantly regretted his tone, expecting Dick to shrink away as everyone else did.

 

But Dick just regarded him coolly. “Well, I don’t know if it can compete with a truly great Bordeaux or a fine cognac, but it will do.”

 

Bruce might have gasped if he didn’t have a tighter rein on his emotions. “Cognac!” he sputtered. “This scotch is from the very same place as my illustrious Wayne forbearers.”

 

“Given that my ancestors are from hither and yon, I’m not nearly so emotionally invested in my spirits.” _Emotionally-invested in other things – like your muscular thighs, straining to stay contained within your trousers – yes, but not some silly amber-colored liquid._

Bruce just humph-ed, drained his glass, got himself a much-needed (according to him) refill, and returned to his chair. “Your backstory, Dick.” Slight emphasis on the ‘Dick’.

 

Dick sighed and stared into his mostly-full glass. “I was born in France” – Bruce made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort in the background – “and traveled around Europe and the middle east with Haly’s Circus. My parents and I were a trapeze act, until they were killed in Virginia 6 years ago. I fled to Gotham City for safety, and was taken in by Barbara and Jim Gordon after Barbara caught me trying to squat in the rafters of the public library. I then attended Gotham State, worked for Barbara, and ended up here.”

 

“You fled to Gotham?”

 

Dick sighed, took a sip of scotch, and nodded. “Yes. There wasn’t enough evidence, but I know my parents were murdered. And then I saw the man responsible lurking around the circus a couple nights later and knew I had to leave.”

 

“Tragic. I’m sorry.”

 

“Thank you. And I’m sorry about your parents.” Even though Dick wasn’t a Gotham native, no one could live in the city for long and not know about the murder of Dr. Thomas and Martha Wayne, in front of their son Bruce, as they left the opera house one evening.

 

Bruce just nodded his head. He didn’t say anything, but Dick could tell it was his way of saying “thank you.”

 

“Well, I suppose I owe you a bit of an explanation for Damian.” Bruce waved away Dick’s polite protest of “you don’t owe me anything, sir.”

 

“He’s ten years old. I met his mother in London after the war, when I was forging some new business relationships after some older ones had … collapsed.” Bruce paused, caught up in a remembrance. “Have you heard of Ra’s al Ghul?” he asked suddenly.

 

Dick scrunched up his face, thinking. _Adorable,_ Bruce thought. “Can’t say that I have.”

 

“No matter. He is – was – ruler of a small principality in the Arabian Peninsula. He was Damian’s maternal grandfather.”

 

Although Dick noted the use of the past tense, something else had grabbed his attention. “You married a princess? I’m impressed!”

 

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat and gazed into his own scotch glass. “Ah, no. Talia, Damian’s mother, and I were never wed.”

 

Dick’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. _Apparently I’m not the only one who loses my sense of propriety around Bruce Wayne_. “I think I might be even more impressed now,” Dick replied cheekily.

 

Bruce shot Dick a look (which was probably supposed to be a reprimand but just sent more tingles down Dick’s spine). “Yes, well. I couldn’t live in Arabia and she couldn’t live in Gotham, so we parted. I didn’t know I had a son until Damian arrived here a week ago, escorted by a bodyguard who informed me that Talia and her father were both dead, slaughtered by an enemy principality.”

 

Dick’s eyes widened. “Did … did Damian see?” _Poor Dami._

 

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t believe he saw their deaths, but he confirmed he saw the bodies.”

 

“That’s almost as bad!” Although the worst thing in Dick’s life would always be the awful splat his parents had made when hitting the ground, their broken, twisted bodies remained a close second.

 

“I am new to fatherhood,” Bruce pronounced, even though it was incredibly obvious. “I would appreciate any hints you can glean from your time with Damian.”

 

Dick gave a small smile (he was still feeling sad for poor Damian) and nodded. “Of course.”

 

Silence filled the room. It wasn’t awkward, nearly companionable, but a bad vibe hung in the air.

 

“You mentioned the war?” Dick asked. “Were you a soldier?” _And you better have fought for the Union_. Dick would have walked out if Bruce had fought for the Confederacy, no matter how handsome and alluring his employer was.

 

“I was, briefly,” Bruce admitted. “The war broke out during my second semester at Harvard. I enlisted in the Union forces that very summer and served for about a year. I was wounded at the Battle of Shiloh, and while I was recovering, I was convinced that I could be more useful off the battlefield.”

 

Dick leaned forward eagerly. “What convinced you?”

 

“The President of the United States.”

 

Dick lost all sense of decorum and gasped loudly. “You met President Lincoln!”

 

Bruce’s lips quirked into a half-smile at Dick’s excited reaction. “I did. He personally implored me to return to Gotham and ensure that Wayne Enterprises was on the Union’s side. It turns out the distant cousin who was running the business in my stead was a Confederate sympathizer.”

 

“No!” Dick gasped.

 

Bruce took a swallow of scotch. “Sadly, he was. After a fierce legal battle, since I was still only 20 and not yet of age, I took over the reins of the company, where I have been ever since. I once thought of being a doctor like my father and allowing others to run the company, but Lincoln convinced me otherwise.”

 

“I wish I could have met President Lincoln.”

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You’re a famous aerialist. Didn’t you meet royalty? And you’re impressed by an elected official?”

 

“Lincoln freed the slaves,” Dick replied fiercely. “My mother loved him. She said he was the best-” Dick paused. He had been about to say “white man,” but he wasn’t sure how Bruce would take that. “President,” he finished, hoping Bruce hadn’t noticed the delay.

 

“He was.”

 

Dick sat back, thinking of how delighted his mother would have been to meet someone who had met Lincoln. He recalled how he and his parents had religiously followed the American Civil War in the European newspapers, delighting in every Union victory and bewailing every Union defeat. And when the Emancipation Proclamation was announced! Dick had never seen his mother so happy. She had hugged him tightly and said, “We’re free now, Dickie.” His parents had even treated Dick to a fancy cake from a bakery on the day of Appomattox Court House. He could still remember that day in Vienna, sitting outside on a mild spring day, feasting on chocolate cake while his mother whistled American songs and his father made up silly lyrics for them in Romani. It was one of the most perfect days of his life.

* * *

 

A few too many scotches later, employer and employee were stumbling their way upstairs. Although neither were exactly far gone, their inhibitions were slightly lowered, which prompted Dick to admit at the door of his chamber, “I forgot my nightshirt.”

 

Before he could fully think through what he was saying, Bruce blurted out, “Use one of mine.”

“Sir, are you sure?” Dick seemed both surprised by and grateful for the suggestion.

“It’s Bruce,” he insisted, “and yes. I have plenty. You can use one of mine.”

“I couldn’t,” Dick insisted, making one last effort at propriety. “For an employee to wear his employer’s clothing.”

If Bruce had been less tipsy, he would have agreed. But he had just enough liquor in him to be sensible rather than concerned with society’s sense of decorum.

“Would you rather sleep naked?”

_I would rather sleep naked … with you_ , Dick thought.

_I would give away all my nightshirts for the chance to see you sleeping naked_ , Bruce thought.

As the silence lengthened, Bruce added imperiously, “Well, would you?”

Dick was shocked out of his reverie. “No, No, of course not. That would be … uncouth.”

“And I won’t tolerate uncouthness,” Bruce said, even as his mind was busy creating multiple uncouth fantasies involving the young tutor. “This way, please.”

Bruce opened the chamber door directly across the hall from Dick’s room and swept inside. Dick fuzzily registered that it was odd his room was closer to Bruce’s than Damian’s, but he was too addled with scotch to think it through any further.

“Do you prefer cotton or linen?” Bruce’s disembodied voice asked.

Startled, Dick ducked into the chamber – Bruce’s bed chamber – feeling a bit like he was trespassing on holy ground.

“Cotton will do nicely.” Bruce turned back to a dresser, rifling around for a nightshirt.

Turning back towards the tutor, Bruce noticed Dick looking around his bedchamber, taking it all in. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, full of pride at his ancestral home.

Dick gave Bruce a look. “It can’t compete with Buckingham or Topkapi Palaces, but it will do.”

Bruce’s mouth thinned into a stiff line.

“It’s the most stylish, well-appointed bed chamber I have seen in America,” Dick added.

Bruce dangled the nightshirt just out of reach. “I ought not to give you this because of that comment, but I wouldn’t want to cause a scandal.” He offered Dick the nightwear.

Dick took it and held it close to his chest. “Indeed not, sir,” he agreed.

But on the inside, both desired nothing more than to cause a scandal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 = [Kindle locations 217-26]


	3. Chapter 3

Dick and Damian were already seated and eating when Bruce breezed into the breakfast room on Saturday morning. No sooner had Bruce loaded up his plate and sat down then he turned to Dick and Damian. “Eat up, you two. We’re going clothes shopping after breakfast.”

 

“What?” Damian yelped, while Dick bit out a curt, “I beg your pardon, sir?”

 

“You two,” Bruce gestured back and forth between the tutor and his pupil, “are getting new clothes.”

 

“Tt. I hate shopping,” Damian pronounced, punctuating the sentence by fiercely biting into a roll.

 

“ **That would be most improper** , sir,”1 Dick protested. _If I’m going to be a kept man, I would at least like all the perks that go with it._

“No, what’s improper is that sorry excuse for a suit,” Bruce retorted, quickly raising his coffee cup to his lips to hide his amused half-smile as Dick opened and closed his mouth in silent, affronted protest.

 

“Sir, I really must protest!” Dick knew he couldn’t compete with Bruce Wayne in the sartorial department, but he wasn’t wearing rags here!

 

“How old is that suit?” Bruce replied easily.

 

Dick opened and closed his mouth again like a fish, as he attempted to control his outrage.

 

_I wonder what else he could do with those delightful lips,_ Bruce thought lecherously, watching a flustered Dick regain control. _Because I have a few suggestions_.

 

“Sir, is that rele-?”

 

“How old is that suit?” Bruce calmly repeated, casually buttering some toast and smirking ever so slightly.

 

“Four – maybe five – years old?” Dick’s voice rose at the end of the sentence, indicating he was not entirely sure how old his suit (the same one he had worn yesterday) was.

 

“It’s never a good sign when one doesn’t remember how old one’s suit is,” Bruce casually commented, openly smirking now.

 

“Yes, well.” Dick decided against saying anything else. He didn’t want to offend his employer too much before breakfast was over.

 

“I know how old my suit is, Father,” Damian offered, clearly seeing a way out of this dreaded shopping trip. “Mother had it made for me but two months ago.”

 

“Yes, but you only have that one suit, which simply won’t do. I can’t have my son and his tutor wearing the same suits day after day.” Bruce actually shuddered at the thought of having so few suits. “The Wayne Family has a reputation to uphold.”

 

Dick and Damian shared a glance. “Well, I’m not going,” Damian announced, again stuffing food into his mouth the moment the words were out.

 

Dick turned to Damian with a look of shock (“did you really just refuse Bruce Wayne?”) and betrayal (“why are you abandoning me?”), but he fully expected Bruce to inform Damian, in no uncertain terms, that he was coming whether he liked it or not. Dick was consequently shocked again when Bruce replied,

 

“Fine. Have Alfred take your measurements, and we’ll order some clothing for you. But no complaining about what you get.”

 

“Agreed,” Damian replied, his voice the closest thing to happy Dick had yet heard.

 

_We’ll order something for you?_ Dick thought. _I do hope Bruce meant Alfred and not me!_

But it was not to be. After breakfast, Alfred took Damian’s measurements and handed Bruce a small piece of paper on which they were recorded. “The carriage is ready for you out front, Master Bruce. Shall I expect you two gentlemen for luncheon?”

 

“No, we will eat in town, Alfred.”

 

Dick’s eyes widened at that. Eat in town! Bruce Wayne was going to dine in public with _him!_

 

“Very good, sir.” Alfred swung open the front door as he handed Bruce his hat and overcoat. As Dick followed Bruce out the door, Alfred gave him an encouraging smile. “Do try to have a good time, Master Dick.”

 

Dick laughed nervously, overwhelmed at the prospect of spending several hours alone with Bruce while still also feeling a bit peeved over Wayne’s insults to his wardrobe. “I will, Alfred,” he promised because, truth be told, Dick really wanted to have a nice time – and he really wanted to please Alfred.

 

Alfred just nodded and gestured for Dick to hurry along, as Bruce was already ensconced in the carriage.

 

Dick hurried up to the luxurious conveyance only to see Bruce’s large hand and strong arm pop out the door to help him up. Feeling an emotion he couldn’t quite identify, Dick allowed Bruce to help pull him into the carriage.

 

Just as Dick sat on the opposite bench, facing backwards, Bruce ordered him to sit next to him. Before Dick could lodge a protest, Bruce added, “It’s easier on the horses that way.”

 

Although Dick was 95 percent certain that was a lie, the 5 percent of him that was uncertain didn’t want to risk giving the horses undue strain. “All right.” He quickly transferred himself to the other bench, brushing Bruce’s leg as he sat down. A thrill went up his spine.

 

“Aside from new suits, you and Damian will also need some outdoor wear. And whatever else you might need for physical education.”

 

“If it’s all the same to you, sir – Bruce,” Dick caught the look, “I will have Alfred help me order something for Damian out of the Sears Roebuck catalog.” At Bruce’s raised eyebrow, Dick explained, “Clothing suited for acrobatics and the like is generally not a tailor’s forte. It’s not the same as a nice hunting or riding suit.”

 

“I will allow that. But you do ride, don’t you?”

 

Dick thought back to his circus days, in which he would sometimes practice acrobatic tricks on the backs of the circus horses. When he was a toddler, before he had joined his parents’ act at age 3, he had ridden bareback in the show. So yes, he could ride a horse, although probably not in the same fashion that Bruce Wayne rode a horse. With a confident smile, Dick answered, “Of course, Bruce. I’ve been riding since I was two.” _That’s not technically a lie_.

 

Bruce looked pleased. Dick was pleased, too; he couldn’t wait to teach Damian how to really ride a horse.

* * *

 

Bruce was relieved to see that Dick and he were the only customers that morning at Barnes’ Tailoring, the finest shop in Gotham City. Bruce had been purchasing his menswear from Barnes for years, and he never let anyone but the proprietor take his measurements. He was grateful he and his employee would have the tailor’s undivided attention.

 

“Mr. Wayne!” Barnes greeted enthusiastically. “So good to see you! How may I be of assistance?”

 

Bruce gestured at Dick. “I’ve hired a tutor for my son, and he needs some new suits.”

 

Dick frowned, still feeling slightly insulted, but Barnes was expert at smoothing such things over.

 

“It is a lovely suit,” he lied easily as he gave Dick the once-over, “but I am always ready to outfit handsome young men. Would you like the same style or something new, Mr….?”

 

“Grayson,” Bruce answered. “And I suppose we’ll see what you have?” When Dick nodded, indicating that was acceptable, Bruce added, “But we would like a suit we could take with us today, too.”

 

“No problem at all, Mr. Wayne, sir. We have both ready-made and bespoke here at Barnes’ Tailoring.” With that, Mr. Barnes disappeared into the back to fetch his models.

 

“Bespoke?” Dick asked. After Bruce explained, his eyes widened. “Barnes will make a suit just for me? Exactly to my dimensions?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Isn’t that … really expensive?”

 

Bruce waved away Dick’s concerns. “It’s nothing, Dick,” he said quietly. “Given my social position, people often look to me to set trends.”

 

Dick grinned. “And you want to set the trend of impeccably-dressed employees?”

 

“Why not? Alfred already fits that.”

 

Dick’s grinned broadened at Bruce’s quip. “Well, I certainly can’t let both you and Alfred down.”

 

Barnes then returned with an array of coats and trousers. Since there were more coat choices, they decided to tackle the trousers first. Bruce tried not to blatantly stare as Dick tried on pair after pair, modeling them for both him and Barnes. Bruce was beginning to despair, thinking Dick was doomed to continue wearing slightly-too-large trousers, when the tutor came out with the perfect pair.

 

The trousers showcased Dick’s taut muscular thighs without being constricting, and hugged the curves of his backside, showing it off without being prurient. It left something to the imagination, but not much. Bruce practically salivated.

 

Barnes nodded his head professionally. “That is the style, young sir.”

 

Dick looked at himself in the mirror, turning this way and that to admire how he looked. “You think so?” Dick crouched down, then did a few stretches and toe touches to check his range of motion. Seemingly satisfied with the results, he turned back to Barnes. “So these are the ones?”

 

“Yes, sir. The others were much too baggy. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Wayne?”

 

“Yyyyess.” Bruce’s voice came out thick and scratchy. He cleared his thought, deliberately not focusing on why his voice might have sounded a bit off. “Yes. I concur.”

 

Dick grinned. “Great!” he turned to Barnes. “I guess I will take some of these.”

 

“Very good. Now just let me pin these, and I can have someone get them ready for you to take today. The rest we shall make to your measurements out of whatever fabric you choose.”

 

“Oh, ummm. Just use what Mr. Wayne uses?” Dick looked at Bruce. He had no idea what to select, but Bruce looked darn good in whatever he was wearing right now.

 

Bruce nodded at Barnes. “Yes, that will suit nicely. Just make him up a pair each in whatever materials I have mine in. You have my orders, yes?”

 

Barnes nodded vigorously. He could envision the piles of money this order was going to get him – Bruce Wayne had a lot of trousers!

 

While Dick had been unsure about trousers, he had very definite opinions about coats, rejecting numerous styles before he even tried them on. He finally whittled it down to four styles, and let Barnes and Bruce decide what material and colors they should be (enough to match all the trousers he was getting, but not so many as to be excessive. Even Bruce Wayne didn’t have a coat for every pair of trousers).

 

After the trousers and coat had been measured and selected, Barnes gestured to a display. “Now we have a wide selection of waistcoats as well, sirs.”

 

Dick frowned at the row of black, grey, brown, and navy (although Bruce spotted a few he thought looked particularly nice). “Do you have anything more … colorful?” Dick asked the tailor.

 

Barnes’ face lit up. “Indeed, I do, sir! One moment please!” Barnes darted into a back room and returned a minute later utterly laden with colorful waistcoats.

 

Bruce thought he might get a headache from all the color, but Dick was delighted. “I hardly know where to begin!” he cried with joy.

 

Barnes was also pleased as punch. “If I may, sir?” When Dick nodded, he continued. “I would recommend you try this blue first and then this red.” Barnes held aloft two beautiful waistcoats.

 

“Red?” Dick looked doubtful. He would need no convincing on the blue.

 

“Indeed, sir. It might seem strange, but with your build and coloring, the red should look marvelous on you.”

 

Dick shrugged. “Okay! Certainly worth a try!”

 

Bruce sat down and watched the two men go through the pile of waistcoats. Barnes was insistent that Dick try on every single one and Dick seemed more than happy to oblige the tailor. As Bruce watched, he was forced to admit that he had underestimated Barnes. The tailor that obligingly outfitted him in somber blacks, greys, browns, and navies, clearly had an eye for color. Bruce had been mildly worried that Dick’s sense of style would offend the tailor’s. It turned out Bruce, and all the rest of Gotham’s male upper-crust, were probably the ones offending the tailor with their drab, boring taste.

 

As Bruce watched, two piles of waistcoats appeared on the floor. One, the much larger pile, were the possibilities. Since Dick looked good in everything (something Bruce was really enjoying), that pile far outweighed the “no” pile, which consisted of a few waistcoats that Dick didn’t like the cut or color of.

 

Eventually, Dick had tried on all the waistcoats. “Mr. Wayne?” he asked. “How many waistcoats is appropriate for a Gotham City tutor to own?”

 

“Hmmmm.” Bruce stoked his chin, trying to decide. Five or six was probably sufficient for a tutor, but there were about 12 waistcoats in the “maybe” pile and all of them had looked … delicious on Dick. Bruce had been especially fond of a grey, black, and burgundy combination that Dick wasn’t likely to select if his options were limited. The tutor had mentioned it was a little “dark.”

 

“Oh just get them all,” Bruce answered with an airy wave. “A Wayne tutor must be dressed better than your average Gotham tutor.”

 

“Sir?” Dick was shocked (as was Barnes, although his was quickly turning into delight). “Are you certain that’s … acceptable?”

 

Bruce shrugged. “I’m Bruce Wayne. What I say is acceptable, is acceptable.” He turned to Barnes. “We will take them all, if you please, Barnes.”

 

“You know,” Dick said, sliding up beside Bruce. “We ought to get a matching red waistcoat for Damian. Wouldn’t that be cute?”

 

Ahh, yes, Damian. Bruce had nearly forgotten his son’s sartorial needs, so distracted was he by Dick’s fashion show.

 

“Quite,” Bruce responded with a half-smirk. “Barnes? We also need to place an order for some suits for my son.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Wayne! If you give me one moment, I will get my assistants working on one of these waistcoats, and I shall be right with you.” Barnes skittered off, hardly believing the huge sale he was going to be making today. _God bless Mr. Wayne!_

An hour later, Bruce had ordered Damian five new suits and seven waistcoats (one red as Dick suggested, although the rest were more sober), while Dick was now outfitted in one set of new duds. The waistcoats and the other suits and shirts would be delivered with Damian’s clothing later in the week; for now Dick was wearing a new black suit with his new red waistcoat.

 

Bruce had to admit that Barnes had been correct. The red did look magnificent on Dick. And the properly fitting trousers, which hugged Dick’s ass and thighs, highlighting the treasures beneath… _Let’s just say it’s money well spent_ , Bruce thought.

* * *

 

After a lengthy stop at a store that sold gentleman’s athletic wear (something Dick had not previously known existed), Bruce felt satisfied his son and his son’s tutor would be properly attired to ride and hunt and engage in other “manly pursuits.” Dick was confident these things would not be making it into his physical education curriculum, but he didn’t want to let Bruce know that just yet. Instead, he smiled and allowed Bruce to purchase him some ridiculous trousers and jacket that were supposedly good for riding but would only serve to unduly restrict one’s range of motion. Dick couldn’t wait to place that Sears Roebuck order for gymnastics wear.

 

“I’m famished,” Bruce announced. “Let’s dine at the Regency.” The Regency was Gotham’s fanciest hotel. Dick had most definitely never been.

 

“As you wish, Mr. Wayne.”

 

Once seated, Dick tried not to gaze around him too much. He didn’t want to look like the “have-not” he was, being briefly given a glance into how the other half lived. Bruce noticed, however, and chuckled softly.

 

“No one’s looking. You can give your open-mouthed wonder free reign for a few seconds.”

 

Dick wanted to fire back a witticism but decided instead to take advantage of his few undisturbed moments to gaze about in awe.

 

“Waiter’s coming,” Bruce hissed too soon, and Dick had to cease his gazing.

 

When the waiter stepped up to their table, Bruce ordered for the both of them. Dick might have been insulted, but 1) he had no idea how the rich did their ordering and 2) he thought it was rather sweet. _Awww, Bruce is ordering for me, just like I’m his partner._

_I hope Dick isn’t insulted I ordered for him,_ Bruce belatedly pondered. _Or will he take it as a sign I have an interest in him? Is **that** why I ordered for both of us? _As Bruce tried to sort out his own feelings, Dick continued to cast covert glances around the dining room, mentally comparing the Regency to some of the fancier European places he had performed in. Dick decided the Regency was a world-class place; Bruce really was like a European noble – just without the title (and with a worse accent).

 

After the waiter served their lunches and wine, Bruce picked up his glass. “I propose a toast, Mr. Grayson. To Damian’s education.” Bruce held aloft his glass.

 

Dick picked up his glass. “To Damian,” he agreed, slyly leaving off the “education.” The two clinked glasses, and Dick took a small sip, while Bruce took a much larger one.

 

As Bruce set his wine down, he looked searchingly at Dick. “Now then, Mr. Grayson. You mentioned your family was from quote ‘hither and yon.’ Could you be more specific?”

 

When Bruce had started speaking, Dick had put a bite of food in his mouth, suspecting he would need it as a ploy to gain a few moments to think about his answer. He was right. As Dick made an apologetic gesture for “I’m sorry but I have food in my mouth,” his brain was whirring. Should he give Bruce the truth, the answer acceptable to Europeans, or the answer acceptable to Americans? He wanted to tell Bruce the whole truth – something in his heart (but perhaps it was emanating from somewhere south of that organ) told him he could trust Bruce – but a voice in his head (that sounded an awful lot like Barbara) told him, “You don’t know if you can fully trust him yet AND you’re in public.”

 

Dick decided to listen to inside-his-head Barbara - but only because they were in public. Taking a sip of his wine (a nice Bordeaux; Bruce had remembered), Dick said, “My parents are travelers from the province of Transylvania in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”

 

Bruce nodded, considering. “So you’re a g***y then?”

 

Dick frowned. “Technically yes but we preferred to be called Roma or Romani. In Europe, the g-word is thrown about as an insult.”

 

Bruce looked genuinely regretful about his error. “I sincerely apologize. I had no idea.”

 

Dick smiled ruefully. “Most people don’t, but I appreciate your understanding.”

 

Silence fell over the table. Bruce seemed to be turning inward, guilty over his mistake, which was something Dick didn’t want in the least. He decided to attempt to draw out his employer.

 

“So, Mr. Wayne. I understand you run an international corporation, which was founded by your great-grandfather. But what do you enjoy doing in your downtime?”

 

“Downtime?” Bruce sounded uncertain.

 

“Yes! Your free time, your not-working time, your personal time. Surely you have _some_ of that.” Dick smiled at Bruce, but the grin carried a clear undertone of “answer because I will not be deterred.”

 

Bruce took a large sip of wine to give himself time to think without it appearing awkward. “I suppose I enjoy playing chess,” he finally replied.

 

“Chess!” Dick sounded utterly delighted. Bruce had never heard anyone sound that enthusiastic about chess before. “A marvelous pastime, sir. Excellent for developing minds. Although I imagine it is rather difficult to play a game by oneself, hmmm?” Dick raised an eyebrow.

 

Bruce coughed. “Yes, well. It’s a pastime I wish I had more time in which to indulge.”

 

Dick nodded sagely. “If I may then, sir, might I suggest playing chess with Damian?”

 

_That … makes a lot of sense,_ Bruce realized. Although he didn’t have any proof yet that Damian knew had to play chess, Talia had known, so the odds were good she had taught Damian. And if not, Bruce could surely teach his son. “Do you think Damian would enjoy that?”

 

“I certainly do, sir. He admires you greatly, even if he is loath to admit it.”

 

Bruce made a noise that sounded like doubt, causing Dick to shake his fork at him. “Damian and I might not yet be on the closest of terms, but he has let that slip to me.” Dick popped some food into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “One mustn’t doubt the power of a sympathetic ear, sir.”

 

_I certainly don’t doubt any of your powers, Dick Grayson. I haven’t even known you 24 hours and you’ve already addled my brain_.

 

“I shall keep that in mind,” Bruce said.

 

Dick grinned. “Glad to be of service, sir.”

 

Bruce frowned slightly. _Cheeky son-of-a-gun._

“I would also like to thank you again for the new clothing, Mr. Wayne,” Dick added, deciding to move the conversation on to less fraught pastures. Gratitude was always in style, was it not?

 

Bruce **smiled smugly** , seeing an opportunity to tease the new tutor a bit and take him down a peg for his cheekiness. **“I wanted to make sure that nobody would be able to cast aspersions on you or** Damian **for anything but your own personalities.”**

**“Because we are both so dreadful on our own?” 2 **Dick shot back with ease.

 

**Bruce shook his head.** He really was not as good at quips as he had hoped. **“That came out entirely wrong. I mean, I want** Damian **to feel valued. To feel as though** he **is being taken care of, and that** he **is not an afterthought. Even though -” 3**

Dick didn’t really know what to say. It warmed his heart that Bruce was so earnest in his desire to do right by Damian, but Dick wasn’t exactly knowledgeable in how society people raised their illegitimate children. While he was legitimate, Dick had never known bastardy (of the birth-related variety) to be a factor in circus life.

**“Never mind. I just wanted to do the right thing.” 4 **

“And you are, Mr. Wayne,” Dick replied. “I know I can be a bit … saucy… but I never meant to imply you don’t value Damian. Just pair your words with actions.”

 

Bruce pondered that for a minute. He wasn’t especially good with children (okay, that was an understatement), but he also wasn’t afraid of a challenge. “So, chess?”

 

Dick nodded with finality. “Chess.” He took a sip of his wine and considered what little he already knew about Damian. “But if you go easy on Damian and let him win, he will never forgive you.”

 

Bruce grinned, his competitive nature roused. “Now that’s a promise I’m only too glad to keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 = [Kindle location 845-54] 
> 
> 2 = [Kindle location 1133-1142]
> 
> 3 and 4 = [Kindle locations 1142-50]


	4. Chapter 4

It was mid-morning Monday, and Dick was frustrated. No, not quite frustrated (he wasn't that far gone yet), but disappointed that he hadn't made more headway. Nothing notably terrible had happened thus far, but lessons were proving to be a slog. Damian was obviously incredibly smart, but he was just as obviously not trying.

As Dick turned away from the blackboard, he saw a knife whiz past his head. Turning, Dick found a mother-of-pearl handle sticking out of the wood paneling a few feet to his left. Dick glanced at Damian, who crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him defiantly. _This just might be the break I need_ , Dick thought.

Dick calmly removed the knife from the wall, pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, and gently wiped the sawdust from the shining blade. Gripping the handle while waggling the blade in the air, Dick said, "Damian, I'm surprised at you."

"Why?" Damian sneered. "Because you now realize I'm an ungovernable barbarian, despite my father's impeccable bloodline?"

Dick struggled to keep the emotion that comment had stirred up in him off his face. He didn't think Damian was the kind of kid to appreciate an "awww, poor baby!" moment, but Dick could certainly sympathize. How many times had he heard something to that effect in Europe, when people criticized him for his Roma heritage or circus upbringing (or both). And judging by the way Damian's voice had deepened when he said the "ungovernable barbarian" part, Dick could easily guess that one (or more) of the previous five tutors had said something to that effect. _No wonder Damian hated them all._

But now was not the time for bonding over their shared victimization by bigots. Damian needed something else.

"No," Dick said slowly, "I'm surprised because this knife is clearly not intended for throwing."

Damian arched an eyebrow, a very-Bruce-like trait that Dick could already tell meant the boy was mildly interested.

"The aerodynamics of this knife are all wrong for throwing. See this ..." Dick took a minute to explain all the ways this knife was not suited for throwing. "But you, Damian, clearly have a talent for this. Despite this knife being completely ill-suited for throwing, your aim was excellent." Dick noted how Damian sat up straighter at the praise and even glowered a bit less, sending pangs through his heart. "You were only about two-feet away from my head, which is pretty darn good."

Damian almost smiled (well, smirked).

"However, it's good for you this knife wasn't suited to throwing because I am not a fan of head wounds," Dick continued. "And don't think I would have run out of this room crying and taken the next carriage back to Gotham. No sirree." Dick pointed the knife playfully at Damian. "You, little mister, would have been writing out 'I will not throw knives at Mr. Grayson' 100 times - in five different languages!"

Damian had looked rather nonplussed at the 100 lines, but his expression had a fleeting moment of apprehension when it was upped to 500.

"Now then. While I am going to keep this little delight for a while," Dick paused to tuck the knife in a desk drawer, knowing full well he would have to hide it in a more secure location later, "I will make an agreement with you. If you do a good job with your lessons - a good job as decided by me - I will teach you how to properly throw knives."

Damian's face lit up with delight before he realized it and promptly replaced it with his usual scowl. "But you said only certain knives are good for throwing. We don't have any of those knives. Believe me, I've checked."

 _I have no doubt you have_. Dick grinned. "Damian, Damian, Damian, you do recall that I grew up in a circus, right?" After Damian nodded, Dick continued. "Do you really think I wouldn't have my own set of throwing knives?"

* * *

 

Bruce rushed through the front door of Wayne Manor shortly after 4 PM. He had hoped to be home earlier, but business had kept him later than he intended. Truthfully, Bruce hadn't wanted to go in to the office today at all, but a week at home, dealing with a parade of tutors, had made it absolutely necessary he put in an appearance today.

"Ah, Master Bruce," Alfred intoned, appearing from out of nowhere to take Bruce's hat and coat. "Lovely to see you home."

"You seem ... almost relaxed," Bruce said hesitantly. "Is everything all right?"

"Quite, Master Bruce. I haven't seen any blood, heard any tears, witnessed any altercations, and Master Dick and Master Damian both ate all their vegetables at luncheon today."

All of that was surprising and amazingly good news, but Bruce decided to focus on one part in particular. "You know, Alfred, Dick is a grown man. He doesn't have to eat all his vegetables."

"Perhaps not, but it is always proper for adults to set a good example for the children." Alfred looked pointedly at Bruce, who suddenly remembered all the times he hadn't eaten his vegetables since Damian's arrival. It was a lot of times - probably all of them.

"So where are the scholars?" Bruce inquired.

"On the back lawn, having their physical education. I have laid out more suitable outer garments for you over there." Alfred gestured to a neat pile of shoes and clothing that Bruce only now noticed.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Of course, sir. I will also inform you that we will be having chocolate cake for dessert tonight. Master Dick mentioned it was one of his special favorites, and I believe any tutor who lasts an entire day deserves a reward."

Bruce nodded his head. _Alfred must really like this Mr. Grayson_ , Bruce thought. _He never makes chocolate cake for me_.

* * *

 

As Bruce crossed the back lawn, he heard a few sounds he wasn't accustomed to. The first was the strange sound of something hitting into a tree. The second was encouraging words and cheering. The third was Damian talking in a voice that didn't sound like he wanted to murder someone.

As Bruce crested a small hill, the sounds were joined with visuals. Damian was throwing knives at a majestic oak tree. No, Bruce realized. That wasn't exactly right. Dick was teaching Damian to throw knives at a majestic oak tree. Bruce paused, taking advantage of his superb vantage point, to watch as Dick coached Damian through a throw, adjusting his arm and giving him tips on his aim.

 _Wow_ , Bruce thought. And then Dick stepped aside to allow Damian room to throw, turning his back to Bruce as he did so. _WOW_ , Bruce thought.

Dick had removed both his coat and waistcoat, leaving him in just his trousers and shirt, with sleeves partially rolled up. From behind, though, it meant Bruce had an unobstructed view of the tutor's backside. And what a view it was. _I knew his ass would look good in those trousers_ , Bruce thought, internally complimenting himself on his ability to select flattering menswear.

Sadly, Bruce only had a few more seconds to enjoy the view before Damian spotted him. "Father!" he shouted, making it both a greeting and a clear order to come join them. _He really is my son_ , Bruce thought wryly.

Dick smiled beatifically at his employer. "Ahh, Mr. Wayne, sir, so good of you to join us. As you can see, Damian is excelling at his physical education."

Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Knife throwing?"

"Why not knife throwing, Father?" Damian passionately burst out. "It is physical and it is certainly a skill that requires teaching. For instance, did you know that most knives are completely aerodynamically unsuited for throwing?"

Bruce was more than a little surprised to see Damian so invested in learning something. "I did not," he admitted weakly.

Dick sagely nodded his head. "Tis true, sir. And I believe pairing this physical activity with a thorough investigation of edged weapons and the dynamics of throwing will make an excellent unit. It covers both history and natural science in addition to the physical."

"I am looking forward to it," Damian added, unprompted.

Bruce almost got whiplash looking back and forth between his son and his son's tutor. How could they possibly be allies already?

Damian let another knife fly. Dick stroked his chin as he regarded the projectile, now embedded in the tree. "That was good, Damian. Still leaning a bit to the left, but your aim is improving rapidly."

Damian seemed to grow taller with the praise. Suddenly, he turned to Bruce. "Father, you ought to try it." He held a knife out to him.

"Oh, I don't know, Damian," Bruce hesitated.

"I insist, Father. Grayson can show you. He's a good teacher."

Both Dick and Bruce froze momentarily, eyes widening. Dick recovered first, grinning. "Thank you, Damian." He turned to Bruce. "Well, Mr. Wayne?"

"Umm, sure." Then Bruce panicked a little at the thought of Dick touching him, guiding his arm through the throw. "Why don't I throw one on my own, first, to give us a ... baseline?"

Dick and Damian looked at each other. "Acceptable," Damian decided.

 _Please let this throw be perfect, please let this throw be perfect_ , Bruce thought, even though another part of him wanted Dick to teach him.

That part won, as Bruce's throw didn't even manage to hit the oak tree. "Oh dear," Dick commented, dashing off to retrieve the knife.

"Tt," Damian snorted. "That was terrible, Father. You're going to need more help than I thought."

Before Bruce could think of a sassy reply, Dick returned with all of the knives, having removed Damian's projectiles from the tree.

"Grayson, don't you agree that was terrible?" When Dick didn't respond, Damian plowed ahead. "Father wasn't even standing correctly. I think you need to show him how it's done."

Dick nodded his head. "Okay. I can do that."

Dick picked up a knife and took his stance. He talked the Waynes through his throw, which expertly landed right in the center of the improvised bulls-eye.

"One more time, Grayson!" Damian insisted. "Father was so incompetent, he needs to see it from the back, too."

Bruce nearly groaned. Was his son trying to ruin his life here? He expected him to watch Mr. Grayson throw a knife from the back? From the butt side?

Apparently he did. As Dick took his stance, Bruce was pleased to see it showed off the tutor's ass to perfection. It highlighted all the rippling muscles, all the taut curves, all the perkiness of it. God, Bruce just wanted to grab a handful of it.

And then Damian struck. "Now, Father, see there. See how Grayson stands?"

Oh Bruce saw all right. He couldn't tear his eyes away. And although it was getting rather warm on the back lawn, Bruce was incredibly grateful for the overcoat Alfred had laid out. Because of what people couldn't see thanks to that roomy coat.

At some point, Dick must have thrown the knife, because Bruce heard Damian exclaim, "Perfect! Another bulls-eye."

 _Perfect indeed, Damian. Perfect indeed_.

"Now it is your turn again, Father," Damian announced, bringing back the two knives Dick had thrown.

Bruce gulped. He could have sworn he saw Dick look a little nervous, too, but maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

Bruce took his stance. Damian scoffed. "Father, that is all wrong."

"It is?" Bruce was perplexed. He was just imitating Dick!

"Yes," Damian insisted and then began barking out a series of adjustments that Bruce struggled to keep up with.

Eventually, Dick started laughing. "Damian, stop. You're confusing your poor father. Here, let me." Taking a gulp (Bruce knew he hadn't imagined it this time!), Dick walked over to Bruce and knelt down behind him. "Okay, move your leg like this. And this one here." Dick gingerly picked up Bruce's legs and re-adjusted his stance. "There." He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"Now fix his arms," Damian ordered.

Dick gulped again. Now that was going to be a bit of a problem, as Bruce was several inches taller and much larger than Dick. While Dick had an acrobat's lithe body, Bruce had a muscle-man's solid, ripped form. A form that was just what Dick loved.

Taking a deep breath, Dick walked up to Bruce and reached for his arm. Fate was not in Dick's favor, though, because he bumped up against Bruce's back (and backside) while reaching for his arm. The contact sent shocks of desire through Dick, who suddenly regretted removing his waistcoat. But he recovered, and began talking Bruce through the move as he adjusted his employer's arm.

For Bruce, his focus was on Dick's warm breath tickling his ear. Bruce could just imagine Dick whispering other things (things not fit for Damian to hear) in his ear, and the idea thrilled him. As Dick stepped back, Bruce let the throwing knife fly, landing close to the center of the bulls-eye. While Damian congratulated his father on his “adequate” throw, Bruce took note of Dick’s flushed face and (was it true?) slightly-tented trousers.

* * *

 

“Mr. Wayne?” Henry Jacobs, Bruce’s assistant, poked his head in the company president’s door. Bruce looked up from a pile of reports, his face telling Jacobs he should continue. “Mr. Dent is here to see you.”

 

“Send him in, Jacobs.” A moment later, Jacobs’ form in the doorway was replaced by the much more imposing one of Harvey Dent, Gotham City’s district attorney and one of Bruce’s oldest friends.

 

“Bruce!” Harvey greeted, throwing his hands in the air. “How’ve you been?”

 

“Busy,” Bruce replied laconically, waving Harvey into his office. Harvey shut the door behind him and approached Bruce’s desk.

 

“So I hear,” Harvey answered, raising an eyebrow as he dropped into the chair on the opposite side of Bruce’s desk.

 

“So the word is out?”

 

“Oh Bruce,” Harvey chuckled some at his friend’s attempt at naivety, “word has been out for days. Your son arrived on Sunday night?” Bruce nodded to confirm. “Then Gotham has been abuzz since midday Monday.”

 

“That long?” Bruce sounded weary.

 

“That long,” Harvey confirmed with a decisive nod. Bruce groaned and leaned back in his chair; he rubbed his hand over his face and turned back to his friend.

 

“I just don’t know what to do.”

 

“From what I hear, you’ve been doing a fine job so far.”

 

“Really? My son went through 5 of Gotham’s best tutors in 5 days – 8 if you count the ones too scared to even try.”

 

Harvey grinned. “But I hear you’ve solved that problem.”

 

Bruce shook his head in amazement. “The gossip mill is as active as ever, I see.”

 

“Bruce, you know it never shuts down when it comes to you. Gotham’s wealthiest bachelor – you provide never-ending grist for the mill.”

“Hmmmmm.” That was something worth thinking about, Bruce noted. As a bachelor, he was a lightning rod for gossip. _There might be a way to change that situation_.

 

“Anyway,” Harvey interrupted Bruce’s musing, “tell me about the new tutor, who rumor has it has tamed the beast – no offense to your son’s childish antics.” Harvey smiled. He clearly had no idea what Damian’s “antics” consisted of.

 

“My son – Damian – is up to a bit more than childish antics,” Bruce admitted. “But his new tutor certainly seems up to the challenge.”

 

“Who is he?”

 

“Dick – Richard Grayson.”

 

Harvey scrunched his face in thought. The DA knew a lot of people. “Never heard of him.”

 

“He’s new – young. This is his first tutoring position after university.”

 

Harvey’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Oh really?”

 

“Yes. He’s only 24, but his life before university has helped prepare him for teaching children like Damian.”

 

Harvey laughed. “What was he before – a lion tamer?”

 

Bruce half-grinned, half-grimaced. “Close. He grew up in a circus. He’s an acrobat by training, although he did do a little lion taming on the side, from what he told me.”

 

Harvey let out a low whistle. “Do you know what you’re getting into, Bruce?”

 

“Not exactly, but I gather most men don’t have much clue how to be fathers.”

 

“That wasn’t what I meant Bruce and you know it.” Harvey paused while Bruce deliberately avoided meeting his friend’s eyes. “A young, smart, acrobatic tutor?” A long pause followed. “Is he handsome?” Harvey finally asked with a sigh.

 

“Breathtakingly so,” Bruce answered without missing a beat.

 

“Does he put up with your crap?”

 

“Surprisingly little, considering he’s my employee and we’ve only known each other a few days.”

 

“Bruuuuuuuuce,” Harvey groaned, rubbing his hand across his face.

 

“What? I know how to handle myself around eligible young men.”

 

Harvey snorted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

Bruce leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you come to dinner and observe for yourself? Besides, you should meet Damian.”

 

“I would like nothing better,” Harvey shot back, a gleam in his eye.

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Harvey. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“If this tutor is anything like I’m imagining, let’s just say you’re damn lucky I’m not in the market for an educator,” Harvey grinned wolfishly.

 

Bruce was less than pleased. Harvey was his best friend, but he also had a terrible tendency to put the moves on whomever Bruce was interested in – man or woman. But a proper gentleman like Bruce couldn’t go back on a dinner invitation, if for no other reason than Alfred would probably die over the breach in etiquette.

 

“You know, Harvey? Let’s make this a proper dinner party. Invite your cousins and their husbands, would you?”

 

Harvey fixed Bruce with an impassive stare. “I should be delighted, my good man, especially since my cousin has a lovely, unattached young lady staying with her.”

 

“Does she indeed? By all means, bring her along.”

 

After Harvey had left, Bruce sat in his office, staring off into space and thinking. Harvey had mentioned Gotham’s overactive rumor mill, which always went into high gear whenever it had news concerning Bruce Wayne. Bruce fully realized his bachelor status had much to do with that; perhaps now was the time to settle down? Now that Damian had come into his life, Bruce saw an increased need to play by the rules in order to smooth his son’s way in society. The Wayne money would easily place Damian at the top of Gotham’s economic pyramid, but the pinnacle of the social pyramid was a bit trickier to attain and keep. Bruce knew he would never drop too far, but he could feel his position slipping somewhat, as people wondered if he might not have more bastards out there (which, as far as he knew, he most certainly did not). Marriage would shore up Bruce’s respectability; a man settled in domesticity was less of a wild card.

 

But while a marriage could help Damian, Bruce was not so foolish as to not realize it could also harm the boy. A Mrs. Wayne would likely want children of her own, who would have a better claim to the Wayne inheritance. Bruce knew enough good lawyers (hello, Harvey) to craft an airtight will, but still. He would have to tread lightly in this matter. A spouse for Bruce Wayne would solve many problems but also potentially open up a lot of new ones. He had to find the right special someone.


	5. Chapter 5

Dick was in the tea room setting up the chess board. Bruce had returned from town early, given Dick a few hours off, and said he was going to play chess with his son. Dick was delighted at the prospect, so he wanted to be sure the setting for the momentous event was just so. As Dick put the finishing touches on the board, he heard the door creak open. He turned around, expecting Damian.

 

It was Bruce. “Hello, Mr. Way – Bruce,” Dick amended when Bruce flashed him a look.

 

“Dick, I need to ask you something about Damian,” Bruce said in a rushed, hushed whisper.

 

“Well, sir, we will have our meeting on Damian’s progress in a few hours. Perhaps that is the time as Damian should be here momentarily.”

 

Bruce shook his head. “No, I need help now. What do I say to Damian when we’re playing chess.”

 

“You could talk about chess?” Dick suggested.

 

“What else, though, to fill the time?”

 

Dick shrugged. “Perhaps one of you will be terrible and the game will be short. Then you shan’t have to worry.”

 

Bruce gave Dick a look. “Do you think that situation is likely?”

 

Dick had only been here a few days but he already knew the answer. “No, I don’t suppose it is. Ask him how he likes America, Bruce. It’s pretty different from Arabia, so he should have something to say.”

 

Bruce nodded eagerly. “Okay, good. What else?”

 

“You might ask him how he’s dealing with the death of his mother and grandfather.”

 

Bruce’s face clearly showed he did not want to talk about that.

 

“Well, you should,” Dick insisted, reading Bruce’s expression. “He needs to know it’s okay to talk about these things. It’s okay to have help to heal.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Bruce murmured, although he still didn’t sound completely convinced. Before Dick could press the matter further, Damian entered the room.

 

“Father. Grayson.” He nodded at each of them in turn.

 

“Damian! Right on time!” Dick greeted with extra joy to make up for Bruce’s failure to greet his son (the older man must have still been thinking about Dick’s suggestions). “I will leave you two to it.” Dick grinned at Damian as he passed by his pupil. “Show him how it’s done, Dami.” Dick winked at the boy.

 

“Tt,” was Damian’s only reply, but he wore a small smile, clearly pleased at his tutor’s confidence in him.

 

Damian and Bruce sat on opposite sides of the table; Bruce was black and Damian was white. “You do know how to play, right?” Bruce asked awkwardly.

 

“Yes.” Damian frowned. _Really, Father?_ He thought peevishly. “And if I didn’t, Grayson gave me a refresher this afternoon.”

 

Bruce nodded. “That’s good.” _Dick wanted to make sure we had this father-son time. That was nice of him. I guess_ , Bruce added to himself, as Damian picked up his knight and pretended to cut the throat of Bruce’s king.

 

“You go first, Damian,” Bruce suggested, taking back his king with a frown.

 

The two played in silence for several moves. Finally, Bruce decided to use the talking points suggested by Dick.

 

“Damian, do you like chess?”

 

Damian cocked his head and gave Bruce a peculiar look. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Father.”

 

“What does that mean?” Bruce cried.

 

“I’m playing chess, aren’t I?”

 

“People do things they don’t like all the time.”

 

“I don’t.” Damian scowled, and Bruce found himself believing what his son said.

 

_Time to try again_. “Do you have a favorite move in chess?” Bruce tried.

 

“I do, but I’m not going to tell you,” Damian smirked. “Are you trying to undermine my game, Father?”

 

_Are you trying to undermine my attempts at bonding?_

_Time to try Dick’s other suggestion._ “Damian, how are you liking the US?”

 

Damian shrugged. “It’s all right.” He made a move on the board. “Too cold, though. And you wear stupid clothing.”

 

Bruce was tempted to argue with Damian about that, but thought maybe he would let Alfred explain the sheer perfection that was a man’s suit.

 

“Are you adjusting all right after …” Bruce trailed off. Damian looked his father in the eye; his expression said “I don’t want to talk about it.” _That’s one thing we agree on_ , Bruce thought.

 

Bruce made his move on the board. “How are you liking Mr. Grayson?”

 

Damian glanced up at his father. “Don’t distract me.” Once he had completed his move, the boy sat back and answered. “I like Grayson well enough. He doesn’t insult my heritage, doesn’t treat me like a child, and teaches me interesting things. However, he is much too cheerful, but I am willing to make allowances for the fault. Great though it is.”

 

Bruce nodded, pleased. “I’m glad this tutor is satisfactory, Damian.”

 

Damian sagely nodded his head. “Quite.”

 

The two passed the rest of their chess game in silence, but it didn’t feel quite as awkward as it had before. Bruce now knew that he and his son agreed on a few things: 1) they didn’t like to talk about the deaths of their parents, 2) they didn’t like to talk while playing chess, and 3) they both liked Dick Grayson.

 

Bruce considered the evening a rousing success.

* * *

 

While Damian and Bruce played chess, Dick headed into Gotham City to visit Barbara and Wally. Despite the evening hour, Dick went straight to the employment agency, where he correctly suspected the two would still be.

 

“Dick!” Wally greeted as his friend came in the door. “How’s the new job?”

 

Dick waited until Barbara had wheeled herself out from the back before answering. “It’s good. Damian has a hard outer shell, but I’m working my way into his soft core.”

 

Barbara rolled her eyes. “You say that about everyone.”

 

“And hasn’t it always worked?” Dick demanded with a smile.

 

Barbara and Wally looked at each other. “Yes,” they agreed with a sigh. They couldn’t argue with the truth.

 

Dick filled the duo in on a few more details. Eventually, Barbara noticed Dick’s outfit.

 

“Dick! Where did you get those?”

 

“Oh.” Dick blushed a little. “Bruce bought them for me.”

 

“Bruce!” Wally and Barbara both shouted in shock.

 

Dick looked at the floor, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Mr. Wayne told me I could call him Bruce when appropriate. Maybe this wasn’t an appropriate time?”

 

“Oh, it’s appropriate here,” Barbara insisted, “But I’m more concerned that he’s telling you to call him Bruce at all.”

 

“And that you’re complying,” Wally tacked on.

 

“Why?” Dick sounded hurt and a little confused.

 

“Because it implies closeness, Dick,” Barbara answered. “And that can be very dangerous.”

 

“I’m keeping it professional,” Dick objected.

 

“For now,” Barbara added. “But for how much longer?”

 

“I am a professional, Barbara!” Dick insisted.

 

“I know that,” she responded in a gentler voice. “But how long before you get your heart broken?”

 

Dick looked away, pushing memories of a couple university heartbreaks out of his mind. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

 

Barbara and Wally shared a commiserating look. “You’re falling in love with him already, aren’t you?” Wally asked.

 

“Maybe.” Dick refused to make eye contact.

 

Barbara sighed. “Just be careful, Dick. Bruce Wayne has broken a lot of hearts in Gotham. I don’t want you to be next.”

 

Dick crossed his arms. “I’ll be fine. I’m an adult, Barbara.”

 

A small, sisterly smile twitched Barbara’s lips. She uncrossed Dick’s arms and patted one of his hands. “I know. But I worry. It’s what sisters do.”

 

“I suppose,” Dick allowed, his smile starting to return.

 

“But who can blame you?” Wally added with a smile. “I hear Bruce Wayne is really something else.”

 

“He is,” Dick replied with a confident nod. “If you two worked for Bruce, you’d probably fall in love with him, too.”

 

“Not me,” Wally chirped. “Rich old white men are not for me.”

 

“He’s not old!” Dick insisted, clearly affronted.

 

“Whatever you say, Dick.” Wally waved away his friend’s protest. “I have eyes only for Miss Linda Park anyway.”

 

“Fine,” Dick admitted. “Maybe not you then. But Barbara would probably fall for Bruce.”

 

Barbara laughed. “Certainly not! Rich middle-aged white men are not for me.”

 

Wally hooted with laughter while Barbara grinned.

 

“You two are the worst,” Dick pretend pouted.

* * *

 

When Dick returned to Wayne Manor a few hours later, Bruce was waiting for him, scotches already poured, in the study.

 

Dick thanked Bruce for the spirits, sat in the indicated chair, and asked, “Did your chess match go well?”

 

Bruce had just taken a sip of scotch so he replied with a deep nod.

 

“Did you have good conversation?” Dick asked eagerly, his eyes shining with hope. Bruce hated to let him down.

 

“Damian and I connected, yes.”

 

“That’s wonderful!” Dick raised his glass. “To your burgeoning father and son relationship!”

 

Bruce and Dick toasted and drank. Bruce felt a bit like he had cheated, but he hadn’t lied to Dick. He and Damian had connected – over their shared desire not to talk about emotional things.

 

After the toast, Dick sat back and scrutinized Bruce. After a few moments, he said, “You two connected by mutually agreeing not to talk about difficult subjects, didn’t you?”

 

“What!” Bruce didn’t have to feign shock - how did the tutor see through him? “No! Maybe! Yes.”

 

“Thought so.” Dick smirked. “You looked guilty when I asked about conversation.”

 

“For your information, I tried talking to Damian, but your conversation starters weren’t very good.” Bruce sniffed disdainfully, hoping to tip the balance of power back in his favor.

 

Dick narrowed his eyes, considering. “What did you ask Damian?”

 

“I asked if he liked chess.”

 

Dick laughed. “That’s a rather obvious question. Not likely to start much of a conversation.”

 

“That’s what you told me to ask!” Bruce protested.

 

“No, I said to talk about chess.” Dick looked pointedly at Bruce, who was searching his memory.

 

“Oh.” Bruce deflated the moment he found the memory. “So you did.”

 

“No matter,” Dick said brightly. “Conversation will get easier with time.”

 

“It will?” Bruce sounded thoroughly unconvinced.

 

“It will,” Dick insisted. Bruce wished he had Dick’s faith in himself and Damian.

 

“So? Damian’s progress report?” Bruce asked, desperate to change the subject.

 

Dick grinned and rattled off a glowing report. Bruce was amazed at Dick’s positive attitude and ability to work with children. Dick was convinced that Damian just needed a loving, supportive environment and he would become less ornery. To that end, Dick turned the negatives (Damian threw a knife at me, Damian set our books on fire, etc) into positives (Damian has good aim, Damian knows how to start a fire without matches!). Bruce was incredibly grateful that Dick was Damian’s tutor.

 

“And that’s all that I can think of.” Dick finished a nearly ten minute spiel.

 

“Thank you, Dick. I appreciate your hard work.”

 

Dick beamed.

 

“I also appreciate your ability to get along with people,” Bruce ventured, “so I was wondering if you might help me with something.”

 

“I shall do my best!”

 

_So sweet and eager to help_ , Bruce thought. “I would like some advice from you on getting along with people and engaging in conversation.”

 

“Advice from me?” Dick was incredulous. Bruce Wayne was a millionaire businessman; surely he didn’t need advice from a lowly tutor?

 

“Yes. I do fine, relatively speaking, in the business world, but I have troubles socially. And I need to start making changes.”

 

“For Damian’s sake?”

 

“Yes, and so I can woo a wife.”

 

Dick nearly spit out his scotch. “A wife!” He nearly shrieked the words.

 

“Well, a spouse,” Bruce backtracked. _Why am I backtracking around Damian’s tutor? He’s my employee; he does as I tell him. I have no need for his approval._ And yet, Bruce wanted Dick’s approval. Very much.

 

When Dick still appeared too shocked to speak again, Bruce continued. “I believe I need to secure a spouse to quiet the rumor mill. I must become more respectable in order to be a good father to Damian.”

 

“That’s all well and good, sir, but …” _What about Damian and any future children? He won’t disinherit that boy easily. And what if a new wife tries to send him away? That could be a disaster! Poor thing will think no one loves him_. A part of Dick also realized that he – Dick Grayson – didn’t want Bruce to marry, but Dick quickly shoved those feelings deep down inside, to be examined later (but preferably suppressed forever).

 

“But what?” Bruce asked in a rather cold tone. He face very much said “I am your employer” when Dick looked at him.

 

_Not the best moment to bring up my objections_. Instead Dick went with the very diplomatic, “But how can _I_ be of help to you, sir?”

 

“Just converse with me. Give me tips on what to say and what not to say. Alfred’s tried but…’ Bruce shrugged.

 

_Oh is that all?_ Dick thought, aghast at the monumental task before him.

 

“Oh and I need some pointers tonight,” Bruce added. “My friend Harvey Dent and his cousins are coming to dinner tomorrow evening.”

 

“Tomorrow!” Dick gasped.

 

“Yes, and I want you and Damian to dine with us.”

 

Dick really wished he could faint on command because this was too much. Was Bruce trying to kill him?

 

But it was not to be. Dick couldn’t summon a convenient attack of unconsciousness, so he had to wade head-on into the treacherous waters.

 

“To begin, Mr. Wayne, the weather is always an excellent topic of conversation.”

 

“The weather?” Bruce sounded doubtful. _And why did Dick call me Mr. Wayne?_ He wondered.

 

“Yes, the weather. Everyone can observe it and everyone has an opinion about it.”

 

“Really? There’s only so much you can say about a cloudy day.” Bruce referenced Gotham City’s typical spring climate.

 

“Au contraire, sir. Observe.” Dick gestured at Bruce, who stared at him blankly. “Say something about the weather.”

 

“Oh, right.” Bruce glanced out the window, then mentally kicked himself. It was dark outside. “Rather cloudy weather we’ve been having, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“Oh I don’t know. Just last Wednesday it was magnificently sunny.”

 

Bruce glared at Dick. “I believe I hate polite conversation already.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Dick replied with a sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some kissy times ahead - but just a little bit.
> 
> Reminder that bolded words are quotations from The Duke’s Guide to Correct Behavior, by Megan Frampton. There were some funny quotes I just had to use, and I'm still not that great at writing love scenes so I borrowed the kissing.

“I don’t understand why we have to attend this dinner,” Damian groused as Dick helped him with his suit jacket.

 

“Your father wants us to meet some of his friends,” Dick replied even though he felt the same way as Damian. “Let’s humor him, shall we?”

 

“Tt.” Damian scowled as he buttoned his jacket. “I expect a reward for this.”

 

“If you behave, you will have one.”

 

Damian regarded Dick critically. “You promise to ask Pennyworth for hot chocolate at tea time?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“With whipped cream?”

 

“Damian, that goes without saying! What do you take me for?”

 

Damian crossed his arms and tilted his nose in the air. “Very well. I will consent to interacting with these people as long as I am adequately compensated.”

 

“That’s the spirit.”

 

Dick ushered Damian downstairs to the tea room where Bruce was waiting for them. Dick thought Bruce looked a tad nervous. _Maybe he’s worried Damian or I will embarrass him,_ Dick thought, although the tutor was confident that wouldn’t be the case. Both tutor and pupil had been tutored by Alfred that afternoon in dinner party etiquette. Dick figured he could do a good job if left to his own devices, but he wanted to do a great job. Besides, Damian was more amenable to Alfred’s instruction when he realized Dick was joining him.

 

Bruce gave their outfits the once over and nodded absently. “Talk about the weather, talk about the parties this season, talk about the theatre,” he muttered to himself, pacing the room.

 

Damian tsked at his father’s strange behavior and settled himself at the table where the chess board was still set up. Dick, on the other hand, smiled fondly at Bruce. _He’s going over what topics are suitable for conversation. That’s just adorable!_

“Grayson! Play chess with me while we wait,” Damian insisted, so Dick sat down, somewhat grateful for the distraction. Mere minutes later, Alfred appeared at the door.

 

“Master Bruce, your guests have arrived. They are coming up the drive just now.”

 

“Thank you, Alfred. I will join you in the foyer.” Bruce gestured for Alfred to depart, which the butler did with a nod of his head.

 

Bruce took a deep breath. Dick turned to face him.

 

“Bruce?”

 

Bruce snapped his head to look at Dick.

 

“Stay calm. Everything’s going to be fine.”

 

“Yes, well…” Bruce trailed off.

 

“Calm,” Dick emphasized.

 

Bruce nodded. _Calm_ , he told himself. _Calm. I can do this. It’s just Harvey … and his cousins and a single young lady! Calm. Calm._

After Bruce got a grip on himself, he turned to Damian and Dick. “I will take our guests to the sitting room. Join us there.”

 

As Bruce swept out of the room, Dick turned to Damian. “Shall we?”

 

“Tt. And just when I was winning.”

 

Dick laughed and tried to ruffle Damian’s hair. “I wouldn’t go that far. Don’t think I didn’t see you make an illegal move when I was talking to Bruce.”

 

“Tt.” Damian frowned but he made no effort to deny his actions. “Let’s go, Grayson.”

 

Dick grinned. “After you.”

 

Meanwhile, Bruce was in the foyer welcoming his guests.

 

“Bruce!” Harvey nearly shouted, giving his friend a hearty slap on the back. “Allow me to introduce my relations, although you no doubt remember them.” Both Bruce and Harvey knew that Bruce only vaguely recalled Harvey’s cousins et al (although he had met them before), but it certainly wasn’t proper to admit to such lapses.

 

“This is my cousin Mrs. Cobblepot and her husband Mr. Oswald Cobblepot. And this is my cousin Mrs. Vreeland, her husband Mr. George Vreeland, and Miss Stark, their houseguest and relation.” Harvey expertly indicated each person when he introduced them. Bruce greeted them all in turn, then moved the party along to the drawing room, giving Alfred leave to hang up everyone’s outdoor wear in peace.

 

“Your domicile is expertly appointed, Mr. Wayne,” Mrs. Cobblepot said, expertly beginning what was to be a long evening of proper, yet utterly banal, conversation.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Cobblepot. The home has been in my family for several generations,” Bruce replied. After all, talking about his own house was also one of the topics of conversation Dick (and Alfred if Bruce could recall back that far) had told him was acceptable for polite society.

 

“It is the most lovely home I have ever seen,” Miss Stark added, although not in a gushing tone. She said it very matter-of-factly, which surprised Bruce. Most of the time when single women made such comments to him, they were going above and beyond to ingratiate themselves. Bruce was mildly intrigued.

 

In the drawing room, Dick and Damian were standing awkwardly in the center of the room, trying very hard not to look awkward (they weren’t succeeding). Obviously anticipation had been getting the best of them, as both noticeably relaxed when Bruce and his guests entered.

 

Now it was Bruce’s turn to slap Harvey on the back. “Harvey, may I present my son and his esteemed tutor.” Bruce gestured at Dick and Damian like a king surveying his kingdom. “Mr. Dent, this is Mr. Grayson.” Bruce paused while the two shook hands. “And this is Damian. Damian, this is Mr. Dent.” Bruce put a slight emphasis on the “Mr.” which did not go unnoticed by Damian or Dick. Damian silently shook hands with Harvey Dent.

 

Bruce then proceeded to introduce everyone else to Dick and Damian. Dick found it a bit odd that Bruce was introducing him before Damian; generally adults were introduced first, but Damian, as a son of the house, did have a higher social standing than Dick, an employee. Dick wondered, briefly, if it had something to do with Damian’s illegitimate status, but couldn’t imagine Bruce being so cruel. _Maybe Bruce just likes me,_ Dick thought, knowing in his heart that was the reason he most wanted to be the answer, even if it was probably the most unlikely one.

 

After introductions, everyone broke into sub-conversations while a servant carried around a tray with drinks (scotch for the men, wine for the women, and juice for Damian – which he was irritated about). After taking a few delicate sips of her wine, Miss Stark approached Damian.

 

“Hello, Damian. How is your schooling going?”

 

Damian glared at her, then glanced up at Dick. Dick’s expression clearly said, “be polite and answer her,” so Damian, with a huff, replied, “It’s fine.”

 

“That’s good.” Miss Stark smiled and seemed completely content with Damian’s sorry excuse for an answer. Dick nudged Damian.

 

“Perhaps Miss Stark would be interested in hearing a few details concerning your education,” Dick prompted.

 

“Oh yes! That would be lovely,” Miss Stark said in a demure voice, inflected with slight enthusiasm.

 

“Tt.” Damian crossed his arms. “Grayson has taught me how to throw knives.”

 

“Damiiiii,” Dick groaned, head sinking into his hands. _That’s not what I meant!_

But Miss Stark seemed unfazed. “That’s nice,” she replied, smile still plastered in place.

 

Dick and Damian both looked at each other in confusion. Really? Knife throwing was nice? Granted, Dick could think of many, many things that were much less nice than knife throwing, but still. Odd.

 

“Do you throw knives?” Damian demanded, not inclined to beat about the bush in proper fashion.

 

“Well, no, but I should like to if it interests you,” Miss Stark replied.

 

“Tt.” Damian was clearly disgusted. How absurd!

 

Dick was somewhat alarmed. Was Miss Stark making a move on Bruce through Damian?

 

Before Dick could investigate further, Alfred came in and announced dinner. Everyone moved to the large formal dining room, where there was great shuffling around to ensure everyone was seated in suitable places. Dick was not at all surprised that he and Damian were relegated to the far end of the table, the furthest away from Bruce. Harvey Dent was also down there with them, while Miss Stark and Mrs. Vreeland occupied the positions to Bruce’s right and left respectively.

 

Fortunately for Dick, Harvey was a good conversationalist (Damian rarely was, especially when he was eating. At those times, his focus was entirely on his food). With the two of them down at the far end of the table, separated from Bruce and the polite conversation he was swathed in, the two could talk about less polite things. For instance, Harvey was charmed to hear about Dick’s travels in Europe and his circus upbringing; Dick, for his part, was delighted to hear the details of some pranks Harvey had pulled on Bruce in their younger days. Even Damian had wiped the bored expression off his face and paid rapt attention for _that_ conversation.

 

Unfortunately for Bruce, his end of the table was in polite-conversation mode. When the topic of the weather had been thoroughly exhausted (Bruce had never realized there were so many different ways to describe a cloudy day!), Bruce gently moved the conversation on the arts.

 

“Mr. Cobblepot, have you been to the opera lately?” Bruce asked. If his hazy memories served him right, Oswald Cobblepot was an opera buff.

 

He was. Cobblepot’s face immediately lit up. “Oh, Mr. Wayne, have I! Only last week I saw the most delightful performance of Mozart’s _Don Giovanni_ at the opera house. You simply must go!”

 

“Opera is so lovely,” Miss Stark said agreeably.

 

“Indeed it is!” Cobblepot burst forth. “Especially this production. Never have I seen a performance so exquisite.” For several minutes Mr. Cobblepot rambled on about _Don Giovanni_. While Bruce could have done with fewer details, he had to admit the performance sounded good, and he was grateful to Cobblepot for monopolizing the conversation so Bruce had time to eat and regroup.

 

When Oswald took a break to breathe, Mrs. Vreeland expertly cut in. “Perhaps you should attend a performance, Mr. Wayne. With a companion even.”

 

Before Bruce could form a response, Mr. Vreeland said, “Miss Stark doesn’t want to see a filthy opera like that, about a seducer.”

 

Miss Stark’s eyes widened. “Oh I couldn’t see such a thing.”

 

Mr. Cobblepot frowned. “But you said you liked opera, my dear. And this is an exquisite performance.”

 

“Oh, I do, but …”

 

“She doesn’t want to be exposed to such tawdriness!” Mr. Vreeland interrupted.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Miss Stark said, although she sounded a bit sad.

 

“Enough opera,” Mrs. Vreeland added. “I saw the most delightful ballet the other day.”

 

“I do so love the ballet,” Miss Stark replied with the same enthusiasm she had shown for opera.

 

As Mrs. Vreeland described the ballet she had seen, Bruce took a few quiet moments to ponder Miss Stark. In that short exchange, Bruce had been able to identify what she was – an agreeable sort. Bruce had seen it before, especially in young women. They were taught so much to be agreeable that she had been reduced to finding everything agreeable. Yes, she liked opera but she also liked to avoid “tawdry” operas. She was trained not to disagree. While Bruce appreciated agreement, he didn’t want total agreement. _Besides,_ he thought, _she would never be able to handle Damian_. And honestly, Bruce found that he didn’t mind one bit that his first prospective wife wasn’t going to work. _Plenty of fish in the sea_.

* * *

 

After dinner, the men and ladies separated for after-meal drinks. The women returned to the sitting room while the men went to Bruce’s study. This left Dick and Damian without a place to be, as neither were women by neither were old enough or of high-enough status to sit with the men.

 

“Mr. Wayne, I will be taking Damian up to bed now,” Dick smoothly said, solving the problem while also giving both his employer and his pupil looks that said “just go with it, even though it’s hours before Damian goes to bed.”

 

“Of course,” Bruce said. “Thank you for joining us.”

 

But Mrs. Vreeland had other plans. “Oh you two couldn’t possibly leave now. Come have tea with us! Do let Damian stay up past his bedtime, Mr. Wayne. It’s a special occasion after all.”

 

Although Damian and Dick both would have preferred to retreat to the second floor and avoid any more polite company, it was the type of offer that couldn’t be politely refused, especially since Damian wasn’t going to go to bed for hours.

 

Bruce pasted a fake smile on his face. “That’s absolutely wonderful. Damian, Mr. Grayson, do join the ladies for tea.”

 

“We’d be delighted,” Dick replied, forced smile on his face. “Thank you so much for your generous offer.”

 

Damian looked ready to kill his father (not that Dick could blame him), but he nevertheless allowed Dick to direct him into the sitting room, where Alfred brought extra tea and cakes (just the kind Damian liked, which appeased the boy somewhat).

 

Dick, meanwhile, felt like he was under very subtle interrogation. The questions were innocuous enough, but Dick could tell they were designed to obtain information about Bruce. One just couldn’t be overly obvious within the man’s own home and with his son present.

 

“So, Mr. Grayson, how are you finding Wayne Manor?” asked Mrs. Vreeland.

 

“Most excellent. It reminds me of some of the country homes and palaces I visited in Europe.” Dick had hoped that the mention of Europe would steer the conversation in a different direction (it usually did), but it was not to be in this case.

 

“And Mr. Wayne? How do you find him?”

 

_Handsome, virile, muscular with strong thighs that I just want to wrap around my face while I -._ “A model employer,” Dick stated diplomatically.

 

“One would think so,” Mrs. Cobblepot observed, “running, as he does, an international corporation.”

 

“I’m sure Mr. Wayne is great at his work,” Miss Stark said.

 

“Tt. Obviously,” Damian snarked. “His company has the highest profits of almost any company in the United States.”

 

“Of course,” Miss Stark agreed.

 

“J.P. Morgan is really the only man close to Father. And perhaps Lex Luthor,” Damian added. “But Luthor just made a rather silly investment in a proposed railroad in Arabia, which will hurt him.” Damian shook his head, gazing into his teacup. “I could have told him to avoid that mess.”

 

The ladies looked a bit stunned, but Dick grinned with pride. “As you can see, Damian is his father’s pride and joy.”

 

Damian looked a bit surprised to hear Dick say that, but he covered it quickly. _Don’t make me a liar, Bruce,_ Dick thought. _You need to show Damian that’s true._

“Indeed,” Mrs. Vreeland said. “I wish my own sons showed such aptitude for business.” There was a pause while everyone took a sip of tea. “Speaking of my sons, Mr. Grayson, you ought to bring Damian over to play with them. My boys are just about his age.”

 

_A playdate for Damian?_ Dick was skeptical, although it wasn’t necessarily a bad idea for the boy to socialize. It just seemed like a not-entirely-good idea.

 

Damian turned to Dick with horrified eyes. Dick, however, smiled at Mrs. Vreeland. “I will check with Mr. Wayne and see if we have his permission to disrupt Damian’s educational schedule.”

 

Damian relaxed a little. When Grayson worded it like that, it seemed unlikely Father would agree.

 

But Mrs. Vreeland was not to be deterred. “Bring him by on the weekend,” she said with a smile.

 

“Oh yes, that would be wonderful,” Miss Stark added.

 

“And if you come on the weekend, Mr. Wayne can come, too.” Mrs. Vreeland grinned beatifically. Dick had to hand it to her – the woman had a way about her.

 

Dick gave a tight smile. “I will speak to Mr. Wayne.”

 

“I’ll ask him this evening,” Mrs. Vreeland assured the pair. “Surely he can’t refuse a lady’s request.”

 

“Surely not, ma’am.” Dick tried to look happy at the prospect. He mostly succeeded.

 

Damian suddenly yawned. To someone who knew him, such as Dick, it was obviously fake. But Dick had never been happier for a fake yawn.

 

“Time for bed, Damian?” Dick said fondly. When Damian nodded, Dick turned to their companions. “If you ladies will excuse us?”

 

“Of course,” the three ladies chimed together.

 

Dick bowed to them as he gestured for Damian to leave the room. “My sincerest thanks.”

* * *

 

While Dick and Damian were upstairs preparing Damian for bed (which really entailed the two of them sitting in companionable silence reading their own books), Bruce was still playing the good host downstairs. After drinks and cigars, Bruce and the other men joined the ladies in the drawing room for the evening’s final round of socializing.

 

Just as Bruce was beginning to fear he couldn’t take another moment of the very agreeable Miss Stark agreeing with everyone, Mrs. Vreeland turned to Bruce.

 

“Mr. Wayne, I wanted to let you know that you are also invited to our home this Saturday.”

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Mrs. Vreeland, but to what do I owe the honor?”

 

Mrs. Vreeland smiled a tad craftily, although Bruce couldn’t fathom the reason why at that moment. “You are more than welcome to join Damian when he visits our home to become acquainted with our sons.” She grabbed Mr. Vreeland’s elbow; he smiled down at her and she smiled up at him at the mention of their cherished offspring.

 

“Damian is coming to visit your sons?” Bruce tried not to sound as incredulous as he was. He failed.

 

“Indeed. His tutor thought a little socialization would be beneficial.”

 

“Oh.” _That does seem like something Dick would say, although he might have asked first_. Realizing his surprised “oh” was not a sufficient answer, Bruce hastened to add, “I’m not sure what my schedule will be on Saturday, but thank you for your offer. I will certainly consider it.”

 

“Of course. You are always welcome in our home, Mr. Wayne.” Mrs. Vreeland squeezed her husband’s elbow, and he quickly added his agreement.

 

With a future meeting tentatively set up, the two couples and Miss Stark departed. Harvey tarried a few minutes to talk to Bruce alone.

 

“So?” Harvey asked.

 

“So what?”

 

“What did you think of Miss Stark?”

 

Bruce frowned. “I will answer if you tell me what you thought of Mr. Grayson.” Bruce really did want his close friend to approve of Damian’s tutor, although it did seem a little absurd. “I want to be sure I have hired a fit educator,” Bruce quickly added, hoping that covered his tracks.

Harvey smirked. He wasn’t fooled for a moment by Bruce’s excuse, but he would let it slide. “I’d be glad to. But you first, as I imagine Mr. Grayson is a more congenial topic.” Harvey grinned wolfishly, which Bruce was less than enthused about.

 

“Miss Stark was lovely but entirely too bland and agreeable.”

 

Harvey nodded. “I have often thought that.”

 

“And Mr. Grayson?”

 

“Decidedly not bland or overly agreeable. We had an excellent conversation about Europe and …” Harvey paused, not wanting to give it away lest Dick and Damian try some of the pranks out on Bruce.

 

“And?” Bruce prompted.

 

Harvey waved his hand. “And I can’t recall. Mostly Europe. Young Mr. Grayson has lived a remarkable life.”

 

“He has, hasn’t he?” Bruce fell silent, musing to himself. “Do you think he is a competent tutor?”

 

“Seems to be. He and Damian spoke in several languages I didn’t know when I asked them to demonstrate some of what they had been learning. Very clever.” Harvey grinned but Bruce didn’t respond; he seemed lost in navel gazing. “You know, Bruce, Mr. Grayson meets my approval in a number of ways.”

 

Bruce’s head snapped up, glaring at Harvey.

 

“Think about it, Bruce. It’s lonely on top of Gotham City’s high-society Olympus.”

 

Bruce still didn’t respond, but he looked thoughtful.

 

“And you never know, I might soon be in the market for a tutor myself,” Harvey grinned lecherously, mostly to get a rise out of Bruce.

 

It worked. “Out, Harvey!” Bruce insisted, nudging his friend towards the door.

 

Harvey just laughed. “You always were sensitive about your l-.”

 

“Don’t!”

 

“Tutors,” Harvey corrected, guffawing all the way out the front door.

* * *

 

After Harvey left, Bruce sat alone in his study for a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He was thinking about calling it a night when he remembered he still needed to hear Dick’s report for the day. Sincerely hoping the tutor was still awake, Bruce dispatched Alfred to summon Dick to the study.

 

A few minutes later, Dick peeked his head around the open study door. “Mr. Wayne?”

 

“Come in, come in,” Bruce insisted, waving his arm about in the generally-agreed-on “enter” motion. Dick came into the room, still expertly outfitted in his formal dinner wear.

 

“Would you care for some scotch?” Bruce asked. “Or would you prefer cognac?” He managed to pronounce the name of the drink like it was poison.

 

Dick, however, didn’t protest, focused as he was on Bruce’s state of half undress. In the ten minutes since Harvey had left, Bruce had removed his jacket, waistcoat, and tie.

 

**_I care for many things … including the removal of your clothing_** ,1 Dick thought, but he settled on replying, “Scotch will be fine, Bruce,” with a small smirk.

 

Bruce handed Dick a glass of scotch (which Dick noticed was not as full as the glass Bruce kept for himself) and motioned for him to sit down. Once the two were seated, Bruce said, “Damian was very well-behaved this evening.” Bruce quirked his eyebrow at Dick, clearing indicating “and I’m sure you had something to do with it.”

 

Dick just smiled, playing blissfully oblivious to the subtext of Bruce’s comment. “Indeed.”

 

“I also hear Damian has a playdate for Saturday.”

 

“Oh, Mrs. Vreeland got you to agree, did she? She told us she was going to ask you.”

 

“What do you mean ‘got me to agree’? She told me Damian was coming and that I was welcome to come along! I assumed you had arranged it!”

 

Dick just laughed. “It appears Mrs. Vreeland has outfoxed us both. I told her I would ask you; she then indicated she would ask you, but nothing was agreed on when Damian and I departed.”

 

“It did seem a little presumptuous of you,” Bruce groused.

 

“I am often presumptuous, Bruce, but I was attempting to find a way out of this playdate. Damian clearly does not want to go.”

 

“Well, he can’t back out now. It wouldn’t be proper to reveal we know a lady has overplayed her hand.”

 

Dick smiled at the absurdity of it, even as he admired Mrs. Vreeland’s consummate skill. “It will be fine, Bruce. Damian could use a little socialization anyway. Besides, it builds character to engage in unpleasant pursuits.”

 

“I hardly think a playdate qualifies as an unpleasant pursuit.”

 

Dick chuckled. “I’m quite certain it does to Damian.” Dick took a sip of his scotch and gazed at Bruce over the rim of the glass. “Will you be joining us at the Vreelands’?”

 

“Heavens no,” Bruce insisted. “That is a job for a tutor.”

 

“You won’t even go to see Miss Stark?” Dick teased.

 

Bruce looked aghast. “Certainly not!” He took a gulp of scotch. “Was she awful to you and Damian?”

 

“No. She was entirely agreeable.”

 

“I don’t doubt that. She was entirely too agreeable,” Bruce sighed.

 

“I’m sure she will find a lovely husband someday. Hopefully one who appreciates her agreeableness and doesn’t take advantage.”

 

“Just so long as that husband isn’t me,” Bruce insisted, although he hastened to add, when he caught Dick giving him a reproving look, “although she deserves an agreeable mate.”

 

“Quite.” Dick nodded vigorously, satisfied that both of them wished the agreeable, albeit boring, Miss Stark well in her path through life.

 

After a few minutes of silence, Dick decided to reinvigorate the conversation.

 

“Mr. Dent is quite nice,” Dick commented. “Are you two close?”

 

Bruce suddenly rose to get himself some more scotch, giving Dick a perfect view of his **very lovely backside.** Dick grinned to himself, wondering how Bruce would react if he told him, **_Your posterior is quite remarkable_** , Bruce.2

 

“Harvey is my best friend,” Bruce replied stiffly. “I am gratified you two get along.”

 

Dick smirked to himself, grateful Bruce couldn’t see. _Gratified_ , Dick mentally snickered. _Oh Bruce. You needn’t worry about Mr. Dent._

 

“Mr. Dent told me about his work as the district attorney, and even asked about my life in the circus.” Dick smiled. “And he wasn’t asking just to get a taste of the exotic either; it seemed like he actually cared.”

 

“As well he ought,” Bruce huffed. “Harvey knows I only hire the very best. You are here because you are qualified, Dick, not because …” _You are the most handsome person I have ever laid eyes on and are everything I’ve ever wanted in a life partner._ “Not for any other reason,” he finished half-heartedly.

 

“Of course, Bruce. Anyway, your friend is very nice. He was even so kind as to ask me how I liked it here.”

 

Bruce turned to look at him. Dick **regretted not being able to see his backside any longer, but that momentary disappointment was more than made up for by his handsome face. “And do you like it here?”**

**_More than I should._** **“Of course,”** Dick said, rising to his feet. “I love the time I spend with Damian and-”

**“And me?”** Bruce stepped closer to Dick.

 

Dick knew he probably shouldn’t do this; hadn’t he just promised Barbara and Wally he would do his best to avoid a broken heart? But, then again, Dick knew from his parent’s situation that sometimes life required risks. And this certainly wasn’t a huge risk – a big one, yes – but hardly on par with what his mother had done. So Dick **closed the distance between them, not sure what would happen, but knowing he wanted whatever it was. 3**

 

Bruce wasn’t sure what he had expected – maybe that Dick would call him a perverted, rich creep intent on misusing his power – but he hadn’t dared to hope that Dick returned his feelings so wholeheartedly. That it seemed like the young tutor did was cause for rejoicing – throughout his body (although a few places were expressing that more eagerly than others).

 

Bruce leaned down to capture Dick’s mouth, hoping the young tutor wouldn’t instantly have cause to regret it. After a few seconds, when Dick reached his hand up to entangle his fingers in Bruce’s silky hair and pull the millionaire in closer, Bruce knew he had passed that hurdle.

 

**Dick’s lips were soft, and warm, and so delicious, and Bruce wanted to capture this perfect moment forever, this feeling of just being here with Dick, their mouths touching, Dick’s hands in his hair.**

**Dick pressed against Bruce’s chest, and Bruce congratulated himself on having removed his jacket and waistcoat so there were fewer layers between them (not that he had thought anything like this would happen). But if this type of thing was likely to happen, he would be sure to keep his jacket off as much as possible.** And encourage Dick to do the same (it was a tad inconvenient that the younger man was still fully, and properly, clothed).

**Bruce placed his hands on Dick’s arms, sliding his fingers up and down. Gently, softly, he licked at the seam of Dick’s lips, and he responded, opening his mouth to Bruce so he could ease his tongue inside.**

**And then Bruce gave in to the experience, reveling in the taste and feel of Dick, and how he had taken his hands from his hair and had them now on his shoulders, gripping them as though to memorize their shape with his fingers.**

**Dick was tasting his mouth now as well, tangling his tongue with Bruce’s, nipping at his mouth. Bruce’s cock was erect between them, and he wondered if Dick felt it, knew what he’d done to him. Was doing to him.**

**Bruce didn’t have time to wonder, however, before Dick pulled away, a look of shock and astonishment on his face. “Oh…”**

**“That was unexpected,”** Bruce said, trying to lighten the mood.

**“It was.” Dick’s eyes were wide.**

**“Did you like it?” Bruce had to ask because he certainly had, and he would hope they were in agreement on the matter. Because he would very much like to do it again. 4**

**“I did,”** Dick replied, sounding less shocked. “I … I should probably go. Big educational plans for tomorrow.” And with that, Dick was gone, his unfinished scotch (and Bruce’s erection) the only sign he had previously been in the room.

 

Bruce poured a little more scotch into his glass and sat down. Well, that had been invigorating. It had been some time since he’d been intimate with another man, but Bruce was starting to remember everything he loved about it. He was also realizing that Dick fulfilled all that criteria and then some. Not only did the young tutor stimulate him physically (that much was still obvious), but he also challenged Bruce mentally – which was something few people did.

 

_Looks like Damian isn’t the only Wayne Dick Grayson will be educating_ , Bruce thought ruefully.

* * *

 

Dick darted upstairs into his room, his body protesting, **demanding to know just why it had to leave possibly the most pleasurable experience of his life.**

**Propriety was the best answer he had. It would have to do. 5**

Dick had kissed with a few men before (ahh college), but he had never kissed an employer before. Granted, his employers had only ever been Pop Haly and Barbara, neither of whom he had kissy feelings about, but still. He was pretty sure that French kissing one’s handsome, virile, millionaire employer was something that good, proper tutors just didn’t do.

 

_Good thing I never claimed to be proper_ , Dick thought to himself, smirking to the empty room.

 

But what about Bruce? Dick didn’t go around kissing people randomly, but millionaires lived by their own code. They could take what they wanted and give nothing in return. That was why they were millionaires, right? Dick was pretty sure Bruce Wayne didn’t go around kissing all his employees, but he was the kind of man who, by virtue of his status, could get away with kissing someone and then hanging them out to dry, so to speak.

 

The kiss felt like something more, but Dick reasoned it couldn’t hurt to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. To that end, Dick performed some breathing exercises to calm down, then slipped into bed. He would treasure the memory of kissing Bruce if nothing else.

 

_It was fun while it lasted_ , Dick decided as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 = [Kindle locations 1732-1741]
> 
> 2 = [Kindle locations 1778-87]
> 
> 3 = [Kindle locations 1787-1796]
> 
> 4 = [Kindle locations 1796-1821] *made some changes to the grammar
> 
> 5 = [Kindle locations 1827-1835]


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Dick and Damian and a new woman enters the picture
> 
> A bit of kissing, too!

The next day dawned perfectly normal, the sky cloaked in Gotham’s usual grey clouds. Both Dick and Bruce were a little disappointed (unreasonable though it was) that the heavens weren’t showering sunshine on Gotham in acknowledgement of their kiss.

 

_Oh well,_ Dick thought. _Bruce probably wasn’t that into it anyway._

_It’s fine_ , Bruce crisply scolded his sentimental self. _Dick was just humoring me._

 

Breakfast was awkward because both Bruce and Dick were trying very hard not to be awkward. Dick was asking Damian an endless stream of questions, ostensibly to prepare the boy for lessons that day, but really just to fill the room with conversation. Bruce, on the other hand, was quieter than usual, in order to avoid saying something ridiculous.

 

Eventually, Damian became frustrated with the questions. “Grayson! Your incessant nattering is hurting my ears. I am going to finish my tea in the schoolroom in peace. Don’t follow me until your conversational overflow has ended.” With that, Damian swept out of the room, china teacup in hand.

 

Dick chuckled awkwardly. “Heh heh.” He glanced over at Bruce, who was eating a slice of toast in complete silence. He was somehow even managing to chew without making any noise, which Dick found completely unnerving.

 

“Guess I better get ready for the school day,” Dick said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have a good day at work, Bruce!” he called as he darted out the door.

 

Alone in the breakfast room, Bruce swallowed his toast with an audible gulp. _Have a good day at work, he said. My mother always used to say that to my father. Could that mean …?_

Bruce quickly shook his head. _Stop. That’s putting the cart before the horse, Wayne._

But still Bruce wondered. Surely such a domestic comment was a good sign after last night’s kiss, right? Right?

* * *

 

“I appreciate that you procured this hot cocoa, Grayson,” Damian announced at tea time, as the two took a break from education for some fortifying mid-afternoon sustenance.

 

“My pleasure,” Dick replied. _And it really is my pleasure_ , Dick thought as he drank some of Alfred’s rich, sweet hot cocoa. _This ranks right up there with some of the hot cocoa I used to drink in Europe_.

 

Damian set down his cup and turned to Dick with a very serious expression. “Since you are an outsider like me, Grayson, tell me: how do you like America?”

 

Dick almost smirked at the question, which he recognized as one he had suggested Bruce try on Damian. But noting Damian’s serious mien, Dick knew better than to take the question lightly.

 

“I don’t always know, Dami, to be honest. My parents were killed here, which makes me hate it, but I’ve also met some wonderful friends here.”

 

Damian nodded, soaking it all in. “And do people mock you for being … different?”

 

“Like being from the circus or … my color?”

 

“Both. Either.”

 

“Sadly, yes to both. But it was like that everywhere I went. Some people treated us terribly in Europe and the Ottoman Empire for being from the circus or being Romani. Sometimes people, especially in Europe, treated us better when we said we were former American slaves, since they took it as an opportunity to feel morally superior to Americans, but…” Dick trailed off, a faraway look in us eyes. “If people wanted to hate us for being different, they seized on whatever they could. Circus, Romani, American slaves, whatever. And here in the US, if they don’t outright hate me for being Romani, they see me as some sort of exotic treasure. Which isn’t really better. As for the former slave aspect.” Dick heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s generally better not to mention that given Americans’ attitudes.”

 

Damian nodded, touched that Dick was confiding in him but also touched that he could confide in Dick. “I have seen both already. A couple of the tutors said I was barbaric, but one said I was exotic.”

 

“Oh, Dami, I’m sorry.”

 

Damian angrily waved it away. “Don’t be. If that’s how it is here, I will just succeed despite people’s misconceptions. As you have,” he added in a softer voice.

 

Dick wanted to tell Damian it generally wasn’t that easy, but he figured that was a conversation that could be left until later. Besides, given that he was Bruce Wayne’s son, Damian did have half a chance. Money always helped. Plus, Dick admired Damian’s spirit.

 

“So would you go back?” Damian asked suddenly.

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes. Would you go back to Europe?”

 

“Hmmm.” Dick rubbed his chin as he really thought about it. Did he want to return to Europe?

 

“To visit, yes. But not live again. That part of my life died with my parents. I live in Gotham now. I have friends who are like family to me. I generally like it here despite the problems. Things aren’t perfect, but they never are.”

 

Damian nodded, clearly pleased Dick seemed content to stay in Gotham.

 

“What about you, Dami?”

 

“Would I go back to Arabia?” Damian clarified.

 

“Yes.”

 

Damian sighed. “I cannot. It was not perfect there, either. Mother was training me to be a warrior. Although I was supposed to inherit the kingdom from grandfather, many spoke against me because of my birth.”

 

“People called you that nasty word there, too?” Dick was rather surprised. He had naively thought a princess’s son would be immune from such slander.

 

“A bastard? Yes. A distant relative took the kingdom from my grandfather because he was content to let a bastard succeed him. He used me as a rallying cry.”

 

“Oh Damian. Don’t you want your kingdom back?”

 

“I did when I was first exiled. But as my bodyguard took me across Arabia and the rest of the Ottoman Empire, I heard stories about my grandfather. He was a cruel ruler. No one was sad he was gone.”

 

“So your grandfather’s overthrow wasn’t really your fault, Damian,” Dick quickly put in, hoping the boy realized that and didn’t carry around a load of guilt.

 

“I know,” Damian answered, staring into his cup of hot cocoa. “I was incidental. But I knew even before I left Istanbul for America that I couldn’t win the kingdom back. I would have no support. I must tether my future to my father’s house.”

 

“Well, your father couldn’t ask for a better, smarter son,” Dick replied. “So your future looks assured.”

 

“Until he has another son,” Damian suggested darkly. He suddenly looked up, fiercely meeting Dick’s eyes. “If my father marries and has another son, I will not allow him to cast me aside, Grayson. Know this.”

 

Dick had no doubt at all that Damian would prove a formidable opponent. But if Bruce did marry and have more children, would Damian, an illegitimate outsider, be able to hold his own against legitimate children, born of a (presumably) well-connected, Gotham-society mother? Dick had his doubts, which made him that much more anxious to look out for Damian’s well-being in Bruce’s spousal search.

 

“I will do my best to ensure your father does right by you, Damian,” Dick promised. As Dick drained his cup of cocoa, he stood up. “I could use a little fresh air after that heavy cocoa.” _And heavy conversation_. “Care to join me, Damian?”

 

Damian drained his cup of cocoa. “Indeed. I could go for a little knife throwing myself.”

 

Dick grinned. “A splendid suggestion. I shall meet you on the lawn momentarily.”

 

As Dick darted off to retrieve the knives, Damian walked to the back lawn. He was quite glad he had had that conversation with Grayson. He knew his tutor was someone he could trust.

* * *

 

That evening, Damian was again playing chess with his father while Dick had “some time to himself” (as Bruce put it).

 

“How is your schooling going, Damian?” Bruce asked just after Damian finished making a move.

 

“Fine. Grayson is teaching me lots of things.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Damian rattled off a few of the more impressive-sounding things he and Dick were doing. Bruce looked suitable pleased.

 

“I’m glad you’re learning so much and getting along so well with Mr. Grayson,” Bruce praised.

 

Damian sat up straighter. “He is easier to get along with than any of those other tutors.” Damian stole a glance at Bruce, who looked genuinely interested in the conversation. Consequently, he decided to add, “who treated me like I was a barbarian.”

 

“I’m sorry, Damian,” Bruce reached over to awkwardly pat Damian’s hand. Damian noticed that Bruce wasn’t nearly as adept at the casual touch as Grayson was, but the fleeting experience wasn’t completely unfortunate. “I didn’t mean for you to get the wrong impression.”

 

“Wrong impression?”

 

“That I don’t care about you and your welfare. I care very much.”

 

“Tt,” was all Damian replied. He very much wanted to believe his father, but he was still uncertain of his standing. After all, he was old enough to figure out that there were women out there trying to ensnare his father in matrimony – and his father seemed somewhat open to the prospect! Damian felt he could count on Grayson, but he would also be on the lookout for potential female intruders. No new son was going to usurp his place. He had experienced enough usurpations in his lifetime.

* * *

 

After Damian was in bed, Dick came down to the study to offer Bruce his daily report. Dick was extremely nervous after what had happened last night; he had spent his entire hour of “alone time” in front of his bedroom mirror practicing his presentation. Dick felt confident he had an expertly-prepared 7-minute monologue that he could just recite and dash out, thereby minimizing the after-kiss awkwardness.

 

It was not to be.

 

When Dick entered the study, Bruce was already seated in one of the plush leather armchairs, sipping a scotch. A smaller glass on scotch was already poured and waiting for Dick on the small table beside the other leather chair.

 

“Ah, Dick!” Bruce said in an exceedingly jovial voice. “Come in, come in.”

 

Dick came in and sat in the chair Bruce indicated. Was Bruce going to cover up the awkwardness with overblown conviviality?

 

Apparently so.

 

“So good to see you this evening,” Bruce began as though he were meeting Dick at some dreary upper-crust social function. “How have you been?”

 

Dick arched an eyebrow. _Really? I saw him at breakfast, dinner, and an hour ago when I dropped Damian off to play chess_. “My last hour of time to myself was productive, sir.” Dick sincerely hoped reminding Bruce that he had just seen him would burst the bubble of fake-friendly.

 

It worked somewhat, as Bruce seemed to realize that Dick could tell he was being ridiculous, and toned back the buddy-buddy tone a tad. “Yes, of course. Glad to hear it.”

 

“Shall I offer you my report on Damian?”

 

“Yes, do.” Bruce sounded almost normal when he said that, but it was too short of a comment for Dick to fully tell. Instead, the tutor rattled off his prepared monologue.

 

“That sounded rather rehearsed,” Bruce smirked into his scotch glass and he watched Dick’s eyes grow wide with panic. “Are you lying to me about Damian’s performance?”

 

“No!” Dick squawked, shocked and a little bit terrified Bruce might even think such a thing. “Damian is a delight!”

 

“A delight?” Bruce chuckled, giving Dick a look.

 

“I like a challenge,” Dick defended.

 

“A challenge, eh?” Bruce took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink. He was trying to decide if he should be bold enough to say what was on the tip of his tongue. Throwing caution to the wind, he added:

 

“Is that why you enjoy kissing me?”

 

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise and he quickly gulped down the swallow of alcohol in his mouth. With a cheeky grin he replied, “You are quite a different sort of challenge.”

 

“I hope I’m one as much worth pursing as Damian is,” Bruce added, slowly moving his formerly crossed legs apart.

 

Dick’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and widened. “Most assuredly.”

 

As Bruce continued spreading his legs, Dick slowly started to rise from his chair. Before Dick was fully standing, though, there was a crisp knock at the study door. Dick immediately plunked back down in the chair and Bruce hastily re-crossed his legs, both attempting to assume casual, relaxed positions.

 

“Come in,” Bruce intoned.

 

Alfred entered, bearing a packet of papers. “These just arrived from Wayne Enterprises, sir.” The butler glanced between the two men and immediately felt guilty he had entered. _I had no idea they were getting along so well_.

 

“Of course. Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce accepted the papers and Alfred retreated. As Bruce rose to move towards his desk, Dick also rose.

 

“I shall see you in the morning, Bruce. Thank you for the scotch.” And with that, the tutor was gone.

 

Bruce sat down at his desk and sighed. He had really been hoping for a repeat of last night. At least he knew Dick was still interested.

 

**

 

Upstairs, Dick hurriedly went to bed, filled with joy at the knowledge that Bruce was still interested.

* * *

 

“Why are we doing this again?” Damian grumped, arms folded across his chest, glare fixed on Dick from the other side of the carriage.

 

Dick wanted to say “because Mrs. Vreeland tricked us into it,” but decided to give the outing an educational sheen. Plus, it made him and Bruce sound less ridiculous. “Social outings are an important part of education, Damian. One must learn to work and play well with others.”

 

“Tt. I don’t need to work and play well with others. I’m going to be the boss someday, just like father.” There was a pause. “Right?”

 

Dick smiled, wanting to smooth Damian’s uncertainty. It couldn’t be easy being an illegitimate child suddenly thrust into his father’s high-society life. “Of course,” Dick agreed easily. “But a little courtesy and people skills can go a long way, even for the boss.”

 

“I suppose.” Damian didn’t seem entirely convinced.

 

“Besides,” Dick added. “It’s always nice to make new friends!”

 

“I don’t need to make new friends. I already have one.”

 

Dick was about to ask who Damian’s friend was when he realized the child must mean him. _Oooh, Dami, that’s so sweet. But also sad that your only friend is more than twice your age._

 

“Be that as it may,” Dick replied breezily, “if you make nice with these children, I will teach you how to ride a horse bareback.”

 

Damian frowned. “I already know how to do that. Mother wouldn’t let me have a saddle until I could competently ride without one. She said a saddle had to be earned.”

 

Dick’s eyebrows rose to his forehead. _That’s an unusual parenting strategy_. “Ahh, but can you do tricks on the back of a horse?”

 

“Tricks?”

 

“Juggle, acrobatics, you name it.”

 

“What possible practical use does that have?”

 

“Very little, I should think. But it’s marvelously fun.”

 

Damian thought about it. Even though he tried to keep his emotions off his face, Dick could see the boy’s desire to engage in a little fun warring with his desire to seem serious and grown-up. Eventually, to Dick’s great joy, the ten-year-old beat out the adult in Damian.

 

“I consent to this arrangement. But I also want hot cocoa again.”

 

Dick grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I will make you an even better deal. If you can convince these Vreeland boys that you might even like them, I’ll teach you tricks and make sure we have hot cocoa at tea time for a week.”

 

Damian’s eyes grew wide. This was a terrific bargain! “But why do I need to make these boys think I like them? Father isn’t going to marry that female in the house, is he?” Damian nearly shuddered.

 

Dick laughed. “I don’t believe so, Damian. I am just asking that you hone your acting skills. A prominent man such as your father meets a lot of nasty folks that he has to pretend to like, so it can’t hurt for you to start early.”

 

“An excellent point. You are occasionally wise, Grayson.”

 

“I aim to be.”

 

Damian nodded thoughtfully. “I shall make myself most agreeable.”

 

Dick burst out laughing. Damian glared at him for a moment, before breaking out into a half-smile. “All right. I shall be somewhat agreeable.”

 

“Now that’s the Damian I know and love.” As soon as Dick realized what he had said, he looked at Damian, afraid he had overstepped.

 

But Damian looked extremely happy, although he was covering it up with a smugly-pleased expression. “Do not be ashamed of your affection for me, Grayson. I am quite worthy of adoration.”

 

Dick just chuckled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

 

**

 

Arriving at the Vreelands, Damian was immediately swept away by two boys, ages 11 and 9. Although Dick could tell Damian bristled at the other boys’ casual intimacy, grabbing Damian’s arms and pulling him along, Damian did a nice job of swallowing his distaste and playing along. _Someone really wants his hot cocoa_ , Dick thought.

 

Before Dick could follow the balls of energy, Mrs. Vreeland, with Miss Stark in tow, breezed into the foyer. “Ahh, Mr. Grayson. Do join us for some tea.”

 

Dick wasn’t really sure if a tutor should be having tea with the lady of the house. Was this a test? “Thank you for the offer, Madame, but shouldn’t I go watch the boys?”

 

Mrs. Vreeland waved away his concern. “Oh nonsense. Let the boys have a chance to just be boys with no one looking over their shoulder.” She gestured for Dick to follow her and Miss Stark out of the foyer. “Besides, they’re outside. They can’t break anything or do much harm out there.”

 

Dick was positive that Damian could easily break her sons’ faces or appendages, but he was counting on Damian to uphold his end of the bargain. Therefore, with a fake smile on his face, Dick agreed. “Quite right, Mrs. Vreeland. I very much look forward to tea.”

 

Mrs. Vreeland shared a look with Miss Stark. “As do we, Mr. Grayson.”

 

_Oh boy_ , Dick thought. _Here comes the Bruce-Wayne inquisition_.

 

And he was right. After the tea had been poured and the dainties passed about, Mrs. Vreeland immediately started in on the questions.

 

“Mr. Grayson, is Mr. Wayne currently courting anyone?”

 

Dick didn’t really think this was the kind of information a tutor should know (although, he did – and more besides), so he decided to play it casual. “I really cannot say, Mrs. Vreeland. I am not privy to Mr. Wayne’s social life.” _To his luscious mouth, yes, but not his social calendar._

Mrs. Vreeland nodded placidly, as though she had anticipated this answer. Undeterred, she tried again. “Have you seen any ladies come calling with their chaperones?”

 

Dick enjoyed how she added the chaperones part. Apparently she suspected Bruce saw unchaperoned ladies. _If she only knew_ , Dick thought gleefully to himself.

 

“I cannot say that I have, Madame.”

 

Mrs. Vreeland smiled and nodded at Miss Stark as if to say “see? You have a chance.”

 

“And what does Mr. Wayne do with his time?” Mrs. Vreeland continued.

 

_Suck my face,_ Dick thought cheekily. “Running Wayne Enterprises takes up a great deal of his time.”

 

But Mrs. Vreeland kept going. “But beyond that. What does he do for leisure?”

 

Dick really had no idea aside from drinking scotch and … “Chess, Madame. He plays chess.”

 

“Chess?” Mrs. Vreeland sounded horrified. Apparently Bruce should have been spending his time dancing or riding or shooting or something.

 

“Chess is quite lovely,” Miss Stark said.

 

“You play?” Mrs. Vreeland asked, sounding slightly aghast.

 

Miss Stark shook her head. “No, but I’m sure it’s a most agreeable pastime.”

 

_Ahh, her agreeableness shining through_. “It is,” Dick agreed. _Far more agreeable than this tea time_.

* * *

 

“Did you boys have a nice time?” Mrs. Vreeland asked as everyone gathered in the foyer to see Dick and Damian off.

 

“Yes!” the Vreeland boys agreed enthusiastically, which greatly impressed Dick.

 

“Mr. Grayson,” the younger boy said, turning to Dick, “Damian told us you can juggle and do all kinds of circus tricks! Is that true?”

 

Dick nearly grimaced at the question and the disdainful expression that crossed Mrs. Vreeland’s face. _Now she thinks I’m some sort of uncouth barbarian_.

 

“I’m sure Damian was just weaving a tall tale,” Mrs. Vreeland began, leading Dick to realize she hadn’t known about his circus origins. Harvey Dent had, but apparently everyone hadn’t gotten the message.

 

“It is true,” Dick admitted, taking a perverse joy in the look of shock that briefly danced across Mrs. Vreeland’s face. If she was going to get uptight over such things, he might as well make her as uncomfortable as possible.

 

“Can you teach us?” the younger boy asked eagerly.

 

“Sure!” Dick agreed to Mrs. Vreeland’s horror.

 

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Grayson, but I’m sure you’re much too busy teaching Damian.” Mrs. Vreeland ran her hand over her younger son’s head. “Mr. Grayson is much too busy for that, sweetie.”

 

“But he said -.”

 

“He was just being polite, dear.”

 

The little boy looked confused, and crossed his arms in consternation. Dick felt a bit sad for him; the poor kid would never get to experience the joy of finally mastering the art of juggling.

 

Dick could tell it was clearly time for Damian and him to exit. “Thank you very much for having us, Mrs. Vreeland. Your company was lovely as always.” _Liar_ , Dick accused himself. “And you, Miss Stark. A delight to see you again.”

 

The ladies murmured polite thanks. The boys bid Damian farewell and told him to come back.

 

Once inside the Wayne carriage, Dick looked at Damian. “I think I ruined your chances of ever being invited back when I admitted I knew circus tricks.”

 

Damian snorted. “I’m not sorry. The younger boy was tolerable, but the older was wretched. I nearly punched him when he called me a ‘bastard’ to my face.”

 

Dick’s mouth dropped open. “He said that to you?”

 

“Yes, and I didn’t break his face. Or arm. Or leg. Or anything else.”

 

“I’m very proud of you, Damian. He would have deserved it.”

 

Damian looked pleased with the praise. “He would have,” he agreed.

 

“You know,” Dick added slyly, remembering the younger boy’s mention of juggling, “I might be able to throw some juggling lessons in too to reward you for your fine acting and incredible restraint.”

 

Damian smirked. “That is acceptable.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce, dressed in his best tailcoat, was frantically looking for Alfred. He had a ball to attend tonight at the Isleys, and he couldn’t find his good gloves! As Bruce dashed about the house, he saw Dick and Damian eating a quiet supper in the breakfast room, where the two usually ate when Bruce was not joining them for a meal (aside from breakfast, which everyone ate in the aptly named breakfast room).

 

“Good evening,” Bruce said to Damian and Dick, deciding he could pause his frantic search for Alfred for a few minutes.

 

Damian took in Bruce’s formal evening wear. “Where are you going, Father?”

 

Dick also waited eagerly for the answer. He had known Bruce would be out that evening, but he had hoped it was just for a meal with Harvey Dent or another friend. When Bruce sauntered in wearing his evening best, that idea was quickly proven incorrect.

 

“I’m attending at ball at the Isley residence this evening.”

 

“Tt.” Damian sneered and cut at his chicken with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. He was obviously not pleased Bruce was going to a ball.

 

Dick forced a fake smile on his face. “Have a nice time, Mr. Wayne.”

 

“Harvey should be there, so I might have a little fun,” Bruce replied. “But it will probably be a bore.”

 

“Why go then?” Damian demanded.

 

“It’s expected of me.”

 

“And do you always do what’s expected of you?” Damian retorted. Bruce was a tad surprised – his son was getting rather emotional about this ball.

 

“I don’t always,” Bruce answered, even as he wondered why he was treating his son’s question legitimately and not simply scolding him for his rudeness, “but I have a variety of reasons for attending this ball.”

 

Damian glowered. “It’s to find a wife, isn’t it?”

 

Bruce was somewhat taken aback. He hadn’t fully realized, until this moment, that Damian had suspected that the dinner with the Cobblepots and Vreelands hadn’t just been about introducing them to Damian. _I guess Dick isn’t exaggerating when he tells me how perceptive Damian is_.

 

“Possibly,” Bruce admitted.

 

“And then you will want to replace me,” Damian said sadly.

 

“No! Never!” Bruce insisted, horrified Damian would say that. “I would never replace you, Damian.”

 

“May I be excused?” Damian asked sharply, looking at Dick. Dick, feeling a bit caught in the middle, glanced at Bruce, who gazed uncomprehendingly at Damian.

 

“Of course, Damian,” Dick said softly. Damian immediately left, leaving Bruce stunned.

 

“Dick, he really thinks I would replace him?”

 

“A few people in Gotham have made him acutely sensitive to … the circumstances of his birth,” Dick said delicately. “He is rightly worried how your possible marriage to a woman might affect him.”

 

Bruce threw his hands in the air in despair. At that moment, Alfred stuck his head in, Bruce’s good gloves in his hand. “Your carriage is ready, sir.” He passed the gloves to Bruce and departed.

 

Bruce sighed, pulling on the gloves. “I must go. Dick, please tell Damian not to worry. I won’t let anything happen to him, no matter who I marry. Please, make him understand.” Bruce sounded desperate. So, even though Dick felt Bruce should really go tell Damian himself, he agreed.

 

“I will, sir.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

A few minutes later, as Bruce rolled away in his carriage, he thought back over Dick’s words. _Marriage to a woman, he said. I’ve never heard it phrased quite like that before. Most people just say marriage …_

* * *

 

Dick found Damian in his chamber. Although Dick was afraid Damian might be engaged in a destructive rampage, he found the child sitting at his desk, furiously drawing.

 

“Damian? Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asked gently, sitting down in a nearby chair.

 

“Talk about what? About how my father is going to marry some sniveling society woman and neglect me? About how he doesn’t even realize this is something I might be upset about? Or maybe about how he no doubt sent you to apologize for him and still went off to his inane party?”

 

Dick grimaced. _I rather wish you weren’t so perceptive, Dami._

“Any of it. All of it. None of it, if you really want, although I’m not sure that’s the healthiest option.”

 

Damian laid down his pencil. Dick saw he had been sketching a picture of himself in Arab dress, standing next to a woman and a man, whom Dick imagined were Damian’s mother and grandfather. “Do you miss them?” Dick asked, nodding at the sketch. When Damian immediately threw his arms over to cover it, Dick said softly, “It’s okay to miss them, Damian. I miss my parents every day. It doesn’t mean I love my new friends or family less.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. You can miss your mother and grandfather terribly, but still admire your father.”

 

“I-I’m not being a traitor to my father?”

 

_A traitor? That’s an odd word choice_. “Of course not,” Dick assured his pupil.

 

Damian nodded his head, his burden eased somewhat. “I still don’t like the prospect of Father marrying, though.”

 

“I know.” Dick grinned at Damian. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: me neither.”

 

Damian arched an eyebrow. “Why should you care?”

 

_Crap!_ Dick thought. _I thought Damian would just be pleased with my support! I should have known better_.

 

“I just don’t want to get fired if a new lady of the house comes in and shakes things up,” Dick half-lied. He was a bit nervous a new Mrs. Wayne might fire him (and pack Damian off to boarding school), but that was not his primary reason to dread the possibility of Bruce Wayne’s nuptials.

 

“I see,” Damian said slowly. He didn’t sound entirely convinced by Dick’s response, but he (thankfully to Dick’s mind) let it rest.

 

“Anyway,” Dick said, deciding to accomplish what he had set out to do, “your father did want me to apologize for him.”

 

Damian rolled his eyes. “He should have told me himself.”

 

“I agree. What? I do.” Dick replied when Damian gave him a shocked look.

 

“I just didn’t think you would admit it.”

 

Dick shrugged. “It probably is inappropriate to speak against your employer like that, but I’m often an inappropriate guy.”

 

Damian snorted. “I’ll say. Throwing knives, riding bareback, and juggling. Terribly crass, Grayson.” A gleam appeared in Damian’s eye and a small smile on his face. “And now you’re corrupting me.”

 

Dick knew what that gleam meant. After all, he had been a boy too not that long ago. “Tis true. And what sort of corruption are you interested in tonight?”

 

“Escape artistry.”

 

“Escape artistry?” Dick hadn’t done that with Damian yet.

 

“What? You can do it, can’t you?”

 

Now it was Dick’s turn to snort derisively. “Of course. I just didn’t know that you knew I knew escape artistry.”

 

Damian stuck his nose in the air. “I have been reading some of Father’s books about the circus in my free time.”

 

“You little scamp,” Dick said affectionately, giving Damian’s hair a quick ruffle before his hand was smacked away.

 

“Stop wasting time,” Damian insisted. “I need this knowledge in case my future stepmother tries to lock me in my chamber.”

 

Dick started, his eyes growing wide, but when he saw Damian’s smirk, he knew the child was teasing him.

 

“You are a little scamp,” Dick said with a laugh and a shake of his head as he followed Damian to their indoor physical education room, a large room with a wide variety of athletic equipment and household cast-offs. _At least Damian’s making jokes about the situation_.

* * *

 

Bruce felt terribly guilty for going to the Isleys’ ball when he had left Damian upset. And honestly, Dick had seemed a little upset with him, too. As much as Bruce told himself it didn’t matter what the tutor – his employee – thought of him, Bruce had to admit that it actually mattered to him very much. He desperately wanted Dick to approve of him, which was an entirely new feeling for him. He hadn’t even felt this needy for Talia’s approval all those years ago. _And I should not be going down that road_ , Bruce reminded himself as he snagged a glass of champagne and began to drink it greedily. _Likening what I feel for Dick to what I felt for Talia can only cause trouble_.

 

After another two glasses of champagne, Bruce was feeling like he might have put in enough of an appearance that he could go home, when Harvey Dent found him.

 

“Bruce!” The district attorney slapped Bruce on the back. “Have you been hiding over here the entire time?”

 

“I have. Although I think I’m about to leave shortly.”

 

“Already? You haven’t even danced yet, have you?”

 

“No.” Bruce glared at Harvey, who laughed.

 

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to dance with Miss Stark.”

 

“Oh?” Bruce couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved but he was curious. “Is she not in attendance?”

 

“Oh, she is, but my cousin Mrs. Vreeland has deemed you unsuitable for Miss Stark on account of your circus-performer tutor.” Harvey grinned, his expression clearly conveying he believed this was good news. And, truthfully, it was.

 

“Why did she come to dinner then?” Bruce asked.

 

“Oh, she didn’t know then.” At Bruce’s confused look, Harvey admitted he hadn’t told his relatives anything about Dick and Damian. “I didn’t really think it would matter. I forgot how snotty cousin Vreeland is.” Harvey shrugged. “No great loss, though. Plenty of other fish in the sea, eh?” Harvey elbowed Bruce suggestively and laughed.

 

“Agreed,” Bruce replied simply, thinking he would have to thank Dick later for his superb skills in sweeping unwanted people out of his life.

 

“So, how is the whole courting business going?” Harvey asked, handing Bruce another flute of champagne that he had snatched from the tray of a passing waiter.

 

“It’s not, really. Damian is afraid if I marry I will replace him.”

 

Harvey nodded as he swallowed his champagne. “An entirely reasonable fear.”

 

“But, Harvey! I’m getting married for him! To stop the rumors. To settle down and be more respectable.”

 

“I know that. But, Bruce, the boy has a point. You marry a woman, you usually have babies.”

 

“I am aware of human anatomy, thank you,” Bruce retorted in a brittle voice.

 

Harvey laughed. “If you say so. I’m just saying, the kid’s not entirely off base.”

 

Bruce frowned. “I think the tutor’s not entirely happy at the prospect I might marry either.”

 

Now Harvey was even more intrigued. “Oh really?” Harvey leaned in close to Bruce. “Does he … you know. Have feelings for you?”

 

Bruce sighed. “I’m not sure.”

 

“Do you have feelings for him?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

Harvey frowned, entirely unconvinced. He had heard Bruce talk like this before. “He could be an excellent solution to your problem.”

 

Bruce shook his head. No, he had to try to do right by Damian and marry a respectable woman. “No, he’s just a tutor,” Bruce admitted, although he sounded less like he was convinced of his argument and more like he was trying to convince himself. “I need a proper woman who won’t cause too many problems with Damian.”

 

Harvey sighed and rolled his eyes. Sometimes Bruce was such a dunderhead. Hopefully his friend would come around before he mucked everything up. But for now, Harvey would try to be helpful. Besides, if Bruce did end up with a society lady and Dick Grayson was out of a job, Harvey Dent just might have an opening.

 

“How about her?” Harvey nodded towards a middle-aged widow. “Or her?” He indicated a 30-something spinster.

 

Despite Harvey’s best efforts to fix Bruce up with a less fertile woman, Bruce was not getting the hint. Harvey was about ready to tell Bruce he was on his own when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Isley approaching with their daughter Pamela. _Bingo!_

“Bruce,” Harvey leaned over to whisper rapidly in Bruce’s ear. “Do you know Pamela Isley?”

 

“No.”

 

“You should get to. Rumor has it she will never fully recover from the riding accident she had last spring. If you take my meaning.”

 

It took Bruce a moment, but it soon dawned on him what Harvey was saying. Pamela Isley probably couldn’t have children after her horrible accident (Bruce did remember hearing about that now that he thought about it), which accounted for why she was still unmarried at age 21, despite being absolutely gorgeous.

 

_Maybe putting Damian first won’t be so bad after all,_ Bruce thought as he led Pamela Isley out to the dance floor.

 

**

 

“Are you enjoying the party, Miss Isley?” Bruce asked as the two danced.

 

“It is agreeable,” Miss Isley replied. Bruce was momentarily afraid he had come upon another overly-agreeable women when he realized that Miss Isley’s tone was one of boredom.

 

“And what do you like best?” Bruce persisted, more out of lack of anything else to say than because he truly wanted to know.

 

“The floral decoration.” Miss Isley perfectly executed a complicated dance step. “I did all the decorating myself.”

 

“It’s lovely!” And Bruce truly meant it.

 

“Thank you. I grow all the plants here in our conservatory.”

 

“You have amazing skill.”

 

Miss Isley smiled demurely. “Thank you.”

 

After that, the two didn’t talk much because the dance steps became more complicated. When the dance was over, Bruce gallantly kissed Miss Isley’s hand. “Perhaps I shall see you again?” he asked her as he led her off the dance floor.

 

Miss Isley smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That would be lovely,” she said before melting away into the crowd.

 

Bruce found a secluded spot to sit down and downed a few more glasses of champagne. He didn’t know what to think. Miss Isley seemed agreeable enough and she was ravishingly beautiful. She also didn’t seem to care all that much that Bruce Wayne was interested in her, which was often something that drove Bruce wild, although it wasn’t titillating him as much right then as it usually did. Courting Pamela Isley would make sense in a lot of ways for Bruce Wayne.

 

It was just too bad that his heart wasn’t in it.

* * *

 

It was nearing midnight. Damian was asleep (but only after tense negotiations), but Dick was feeling restless. He wasn’t yet ready for sleep, so he thought he would try the library, which Bruce had told him to use freely. As Dick examined the shelves, looking for something edifying yet at least moderately amusing, he heard a sound behind him. Startled, he turned around to see Bruce enter the library.

 

“I saw the candlelight,” Bruce explained.

 

“Uh! Yes. I was looking for some bedtime reading,” Dick explained.

 

Bruce took in Dick’s trim form, illuminated by the candlelight. Dick was only wearing his trousers and shirt, just as he had been out on the lawn when throwing knives with Damian.

 

“Must you go to bed right now?” Bruce asked, his voice husky with desire. His logical decision to court Pamela Isley was long forgotten in this moment.

 

Dick blushed, as he debated what to do. Propriety and sense demanded he claim he was tired and hurry off to bed like a good little tutor. Passion and a growing tingle of love demanded otherwise.

 

It was a short debate. “No,” Dick replied, moving towards Bruce. “I am much too awake to go to sleep right now.”

 

Bruce moved like lightning, pressing up against Dick and redirecting his path towards the wall. As Dick felt the spines of some Shakespeare bump up against his back ( _A sensuous choice, Bruce. I hope we are near the sonnets._ ), Bruce brushed his cheek against Dick’s hair to get his attention. Dick looked up to see Bruce’s blue-grey eyes boring into his. “May I kiss you?”

 

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Dick’s lips. Bruce was being such a gentleman, as well as making a concerted effort not to force Dick into anything. _Let it never be said Bruce Wayne forced an employee into anything_ , Dick mused. But the tutor knew he didn’t want to take this last chance to maintain decorum. More than anything, Dick wanted to throw propriety to the wind.

 

“Yes. Kiss me. Please.” He hadn’t meant to sound so needy, but what could he do? Bruce Wayne had that effect on a person.

 

And then Bruce’s mouth was on his, hot and demanding, moving more quickly than last time. Dick parted his lips, and Bruce’s tongue moved in, devouring Dick’s. Dick, in turn, moved his hands up and down Bruce’s back, wishing Bruce didn’t have his jacket on. _Payback for last time_ , Dick mused, remembering that he had had the advantage during their first little session.

 

And Bruce was certainly taking advantage of his new opportunity; he hands roved over Dick’s shoulders and down his back, finally resting at Dick’s hips and lower back. Bruce’s fingers made tentative forays a bit further southward, but not enough to truly claim the territory. Dick felt his whole body tingle with a warming sensation, pooling in his groin.

 

As Shakespeare poked into his spine, Dick shifted, and suddenly he felt Bruce’s manhood pushing into his waist. It made Dick realize just how erect he was, and he flooded with embarrassment that his erection was probably gouging the taller man in the thigh. Consequently, when it was time to breathe, Dick took an extra step away from Bruce.

 

“The evening was that dreary?” he quipped, still trying to regain his breath.

 

“You have no idea,” Bruce responded. He wanted to add “and I couldn’t stop thinking of you all night” but the words just wouldn’t come. Yet somehow Bruce seemed to have conveyed that sentiment to Dick because the younger man inexplicably grinned.

 

“Well, I am quite worn out from this evening’s activities,” the tutor said, wiggling his eyebrows. “But do know that Damian has forgiven you, Bruce.” As Dick brushed past Bruce, he gave the man a quick goodnight peck on the cheek. Bruce was too stunned to react until after Dick had left the room.

 

As Bruce stood there in the waning candlelight, he reached up to touch his cheek. Dick had given him such a chaste kiss, but it conveyed so much more. Dick wasn’t just there for the passion.

 

Up in his room, Dick sighed. He was both satisfied and irked. Irked because his body certainly wanted more from Bruce, but satisfied with himself as well. Like any true performer, Dick knew you had to leave the audience wanting more. Plus, he was still a bit annoyed at Bruce for upsetting Damian that evening.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Some kissing and groping near the end : ) Part of the smut (such as it is) I even wrote myself!

The next day, Damian breezed through his lessons. After a short juggling refresher (Damian was pretty good at it already), Dick decided they needed a change of scenery.

 

“Damian, would you like to go into Gotham and visit an art supply store?” Dick was thinking about Damian’s drawings from last night.

 

Damian’s interest was certainly piqued. “They have stores here that just sell drawing supplies?”

 

“Drawing supplies and paints and oils and various other things. I was thinking that we could incorporate some drawing time into our curriculum since you are so interested.”

 

Damian nodded, clearly pleased. “Do you draw, Grayson?”

 

Dick laughed. “Not well. But they say the best way to understand something is to teach it. So I look forward to deepening your understanding of drawing by having you teach me.”

 

“Tt.” Damian sounded dismissive at first but then he got a sly look on his face. “Grayson, if I’m to teach you, we will need to get you your own materials. I don’t share!”

 

“Then we better get into town like I said!” Dick insisted, shooing Damian out of the backyard and into the house.

 

**

Sometime later, Dick and Damian were in the art supply store. Dick was trying not to rush Damian, but they had been in the store almost an hour and the clerk looked ready to close up shop any minute. As Damian continued to comb the expertly-arranged shelves, Dick gave their pile another once over.

 

They had paper of various quality, an assortment of drafting pencils (some that were for Damian and some that were “beginner” pencils for Dick. Dick couldn’t see much difference between the two sorts of writing utensil, but he was prepared to humor Damian), colored inks, watercolors, brushes, charcoals, and some sketching notebooks. It was a substantial haul and Dick was glad he had informed Alfred of their mission. The butler had helpfully supplied Dick with some money from the housekeeping fund, proclaiming this was just the kind of use Master Bruce would heartily approve of. As Dick did some rough calculations in his head, he was exceedingly glad Bruce Wayne was paying; art wasn’t a cheap activity.

 

“Anything else, Damian?” Dick asked after the clerk had fixed him with a “get-a-move-on” look.

 

“Just this,” Damian answered, bringing an oversized sketch book to the counter. “That will be all,” he said haughtily to the clerk, who gladly began to ring up their purchases.

 

Once everything was neatly wrapped, Dick paid. He carried the larger of the parcels and Damian toted the smaller out to the carriage. As Dick helped Damian inside, he felt the skin on the back of his neck tingle. Someone was watching him. After passing his parcel to Damian, Dick paused on the carriage steps, looking around.

 

There! He saw someone watching him (or Damian) in the alley. The man had a cap pulled low on his head, obscuring his face, but Dick could tell he had been watching them. _Why?_

 

“Grayson! Get in here!” Damian snapped. “Stop hanging outside of the carriage like a child!”

 

Dick chuckled at that last comment, his amusement partially dispelling his anxiety over the man in the alley. _I’m sure it’s nothing. He might be watching someone else anyway_ , Dick assured himself as he complied with Damian’s demands and they started back towards Wayne Manor.

* * *

 

Bruce gazed up at the Isley mansion and sighed. He really hated calling on people, but it was what men in his position did. And when Alfred had heard that Bruce hadn’t completed detested his experience at the Isley ball, he had strongly suggested that Bruce engage in some oft-neglected social niceties. And Bruce had obeyed because … Alfred generally did know best.

 

Bruce straightened his top hat and walked to the door. He had barely knocked once when the door was opened by the Isley butler.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne,” Jervis intoned.

 

“Good afternoon.” Bruce placed his calling card on the small silver tray in Jervis’s hand, even though the man clearly already knew who he was. Bruce didn’t go out much, so he had more than a few calling cards to spare.

 

Jervis led Bruce back to a large sitting room where a number of people had gathered. Bruce internally groaned. He had forgotten that people who had enjoyed a ball typically called on the hostess a few days afterward to express their thanks.

 

Jervis announced Bruce, and Mrs. Isley came over to offer profuse thanks for his visit.

 

“It was the least I could do, madam, after the lovely entertainment you provided for us all.” _Thank god for Alfred and his training_ , Bruce thought as the polite, yet utterly insincere, words left his mouth.

 

“I am so delighted you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Wayne. Tea?” She gestured towards a well-provisioned tea table. When Bruce nodded, she gestured towards her daughter Pamela. “My daughter can serve you.”

 

Mrs. Isley slipped away, revealing her daughter, who was half-smiling (as was expected of her in social situations) and half-grimacing (at her mother’s less-than-subtle ploy to throw her together with Bruce Wayne). “Tea?” she asked, holding up a floral china cup.

 

“Yes, Miss Isley. Thank you.”

 

Pamela handed Bruce the cup, then motioned for him to find a spot on an available settee. “Seats are at a bit of a premium. I shall bring you some refreshments shortly.”

 

“Thank you.” Bruce sat on the closest divan and absently sipped his tea. It wasn’t quite up to Alfred’s quality, but it would do.

 

“Being sociable, are we?” came the voice of Harvey Dent as he leaned over the back of the settee, amusement lacing his words.

 

Bruce carefully placed his cup in its saucer. “Shouldn’t you be at work, protecting the citizenry?”

 

The district attorney grinned. “Shouldn’t you be at work protecting our economy?”

 

Bruce would have vastly preferred to be at work and Harvey knew it. After a moment’s pause, Harvey leaned in closer.

 

“So you didn’t find Miss Isley too terrible after all, eh?” He leaned back and waggled his eyebrows at Bruce.

 

Bruce’s face was completely impassive. “I’m keeping my options open.”

“Don’t wait too long. Pretty young things get snapped up quick.” Given Harvey’s undertone, Bruce had a sneaking suspicion his friend wasn’t talking about Miss Isley.

 

“Mr. Dent. Mr. Wayne. Refreshments?” Miss Isley appeared with a plate laden with cakes, cookies, and various other teatime delights.

 

“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly,” Harvey said. “I must be getting back to the courthouse. I will just wish your mother farewell.”

 

“It was nice to see you, Mr. Dent.”

 

“You too, Miss Isley.”

 

Harvey and Bruce just nodded at each other and Harvey slid away to bid goodbye to Mrs. Isley.

 

Still holding the plate of food, Pamela sat down on the settee next to Bruce. “Cookie? Perhaps a sandwich, Mr. Wayne?” She tilted the plate towards him.

 

“I suppose a sandwich wouldn’t hurt. I’m not much for sweets,” Bruce added as he took a finger sandwich and placed it on his saucer.

 

The two sat in silence for a short while. And while it wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence, it wasn’t distinctly uncomfortable either. _Maybe this could work_ , Bruce thought. It wasn’t exactly what his heart wanted (a mystery he refused to penetrate), but it was certainly respectable and made sense.

 

Bruce took a bite of his cucumber sandwich. It was amazing. “Miss Isley, this is the best cucumber sandwich I have ever had. The cucumber is perfect.”

 

Miss Isley smiled, but her eyes seemed sad. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne. I grew the cucumbers myself.”

 

“You did?” Bruce knew it wasn’t the most articulate thing to say, but it had slipped out.

 

Pamela smiled ruefully. “Yes, I am fascinated by horticulture. It is my great love and favorite pastime. I only wish we didn’t so often eat my plants.”

 

“But are they not grown for eating?” Bruce was slightly confused.

 

“Depends on who you ask. According to my parents: yes. According to me: no. I grow them so I have something useful to do with my life and to create beauty. You should see some of my flowers!” A rapturous glow came over Pamela’s face.

 

“I should like that,” Bruce said sincerely.

 

But before Pamela could offer to show Bruce her darling plants, the two were roped into a card game. Although Bruce was partnered with Pamela (Mrs. Isley had seen to that) and she was a decent card player, Bruce hated afternoon cards. It was the most banal part of visiting. As Bruce mechanically played his hand, he found himself wondering what Dick and Damian were up to.

 

* * *

 

On account of the truly beautiful day, Dick and Damian had put on some of their tighter Sears and Roebuck clothes and were practicing tricks on the horses.

 

“Okay, Damian, here’s what we’re going to try today.” Dick effortlessly hoped onto the bare back of one of Bruce’s more sedate mares and did a handstand. He then did a one-handed handstand, later switching hands.

 

“But the horse is just standing still,” Damian complained.

 

“Dami, you have to walk before you can run.”

 

“Tt. Nevertheless, I want you to show me something worthy of my attention.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“It is.”

 

“Fine then.”

 

Dick sat down on the horse and coaxed her into movement. Once she was going at a reasonable clip (a fast walk, not quite a trot), Dick crouched on her back, pulling himself into a handstand. The horse continued to move, rather unguided, but Dick trusted the beast not to hurt herself. He then did a one handed handstand before returning to both hands and doing some choreography with his legs. For a final flourish, Dick crouched back down and did a somersault along the horse’s back before bringing her to a stop.

 

“What, no flip?” Damian sassed.

 

“Nope. I’m not familiar enough with this horse yet. Maybe later but safety first and all that.”

 

“Safety first,” Damian snorted.

 

“Now, now. Just because we’re doing unsafe things doesn’t mean we should do them unsafely,” Dick lectured with a smile.

 

“Tt. Just help me do a handstand on this horse, Grayson.”

 

“With pleasure.”

 

Although Damian could do a handstand, he was clearly still a bit apprehensive about doing one on the back of the horse. Even though Damian was much too proud to ask Dick to spot him, the tutor could tell Damian wanted him to stand next to the horse. Dick gladly did. After all, Damian was still getting exercise by doing a handstand whether he was spotted or not.

 

It was in this position that Bruce found them when he arrived home from an afternoon at the Isley’s. Although the afternoon hadn’t been a complete disaster, Bruce was in an irritable mood (he and Miss Isley had lost at cards). Despite the excellent view the athletic clothes afforded of Dick’s backside, Bruce felt his temper flare at seeing Damian doing such silly tricks.

 

“Father!” Damian greeted, dismounting the horse with some help from Dick.

“Damian.” Bruce nodded at his son. “Mr. Grayson.” He nodded at the tutor, who raised an eyebrow at the formal term of address.

 

“Damian, take the horses back to the barn, would you?” Bruce requested of his son. With a grumble, Damian grabbed the bridles of both horses and obeyed.

 

Once Damian was out of earshot, Bruce turned to Dick. “This is physical education!”

 

“Yes. It involves movement and exercise, so I don’t see why it wouldn’t qualify,” Dick answered easily.

 

“It shouldn’t qualify because I don’t want you turning my son into a circus freak!”

 

As soon as the words were out of Bruce’s mouth he regretted them. Why had he chosen to direct his annoyance at society onto Dick? The tutor didn’t deserve it, and Bruce had cruelly insulted him.

 

But Dick refused to be cowed. Anger flashed behind his eyes, but he restrained it before replying. When Dick answered, it was not in the passionate voice of one who was angry, but rather in the cold voice of one who has passed through anger and on to firing back. “I can teach him circus tricks, but I’m ill equipped to teach the freak aspect. In the sense of a freak being someone unusual, he could better learn that from a capitalist baron, who makes his money off the work of others rather than by the sweat of his own brow.”

 

After delivering his volley, Dick latched onto Bruce’s gaze. Their eyes bore into one another, neither breaking the stare. _He just called me a freak and insinuated I don’t work!_ Bruce inwardly gasped. _Why am I so attracted to him?_

Even as part of Bruce thought he should fire Dick for the clear breach in propriety, a larger part of him knew he deserved it. And an even larger part of Bruce was undeniably attracted to this brave young man that would insult him to his face and refuse to be intimidated by Bruce Wayne. Truthfully, the combination was intoxicating.

 

As for Dick, part of him was focused on controlling his anger over the insult, while another part of him was struggling to ignore the undeniable sexual tension inherent in the moment, as he and Bruce stood close together, glaring at one another.

 

It was at this moment that Damian returned. At first, neither Bruce nor Dick even noticed his approach, which caused some gears to start turning in Damian’s head.

 

“Grayson!” Damian interrupted. For a full three seconds, Dick continued to unwaveringly hold Bruce’s gaze before he broke the stare to smile at Damian.

 

“Yes, Dami?”

 

“Race me back to the house.”

 

“Oh, you’re on!”

 

As Dick and Damian sped away, Bruce watched their retreating backs (and Dick’s retreating backside). _I really shouldn’t have found that insult so sexy_ , Bruce mildly scolded himself. But there was no denying he had; his half-hard cock was ample proof of that.

* * *

 

A few days later, Dick and Damian were just finishing their after-lunch dessert when Dick made an announcement.

 

“I have an excursion planned for us this afternoon, Damian.”

 

“You do?” Damian asked around a mouthful of cake. Thankfully, Alfred wasn’t in the room and Dick wasn’t inclined to scold Damian for the lapse in manners.

 

“Indeed. We’re going to visit your father at Wayne Enterprises this afternoon.”

 

Damian’s eyes widened with eager anticipation. “We’re to visit Wayne Enterprises?” he repeated incredulously.

 

“Yes, and you’ll be introduced to a few people, and whatnot,” Dick said, keeping his voice light and casual even though he knew this was a big thing for Damian. “After all, Wayne Enterprises is a family-run business.”

 

Damian laid down his fork and pushed away his almost-finished cake. “We must leave at once!” He stood up and smoothed down his jacket. “Grayson, do I look acceptable for a business meeting?”

 

Dick smiled fondly at his pupil. “I certainly think so, but we’ll let Alfred give us the once-over before we depart. Why don’t you brush your teeth and then we’ll be off.”

 

“Of course!” Damian raced out of the informal dining room (where most family meals were taken) to his room.

 

Dick smiled wistfully at Damian’s empty chair. He knew the boy would be excited about this. He just hoped everything worked out according to plan.

 

A few days before, Bruce had approached Dick about “hosting an event to integrate Damian into the community.” It was all Dick could do to keep from laughing in his employer’s face, as that sounded completely ridiculous. Some pointed questions on Dick’s part had eventually revealed that Bruce was thinking of some sort of party for children, in which Damian would hopefully make friends and Bruce could emphasize to society that Damian was his son and he intended to treat him as such – so the gossips had better shut it.

 

While Dick could certainly appreciate that Bruce’s heart was in the right place, he couldn’t think of a worse idea. Damian had detested his “playdate,” and had openly admitted to Dick that he “only put up with those uncultured swine because I didn’t want to disappoint you and Father. And because you promised to teach me to how to do tricks on horseback.” Damian had no desire to get along with other society children. And while Damian couldn’t be allowed to avoid society forever, there were more pressing concerns. Damian wasn’t worried about the opinions of outsiders; he was worried about the opinions of insiders – namely, his father. Dick knew that Damian desperately wanted a clear sign from Bruce that he cared and wasn’t going to shuffle Damian off. And while a party for Damian would show that to society, it wouldn’t prove that to Damian. Damian needed a more personal gesture.

 

Dick had to play this diplomatically. “While that is a lovely idea, Bruce, I don’t think a party is in order quite yet.”

 

“Oh.” Bruce arched an imperious eyebrow. “And why not?”

 

“Now simply isn’t a good time in our coursework. Perhaps we could postpone the party to the summer, after Damian has completed this year’s course of study? Then he would see how much you value a good education, sir.” Dick figured tacking a “sir” on the end couldn’t hurt.

 

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. Dick did have a point. Right now was in the middle of Damian’s studies.

 

“That does make sense,” Bruce replied slowly, thoughtfully.

 

“I do have another suggestion, sir,” Dick helpfully contributed.

 

“Go on.”

 

“I believe it would be most beneficial for Damian to visit you at Wayne Enterprises. He would very much like to see where you work, what you do, and meet some of your employees.”

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “But he’s ten.”

 

“Ahh, but Damian is no ordinary ten-year-old boy. And the trip would have great educational benefit since Damian will presumably work in your business someday.” Dick didn’t want to come right out and say Damian would inherit since the boy was technically a bastard, but he also wanted to give Bruce a hint that such assurances would go a long way towards strengthening their father-son relationship.

 

Thankfully for Dick, Bruce seemed to pick up on his underlying meaning. “Of course Damian will inherit! But business is so dull for children and he’ll just be underfoot.”

 

“Perhaps.” Dick doubted that Damian would find Wayne Enterprises dull or be underfoot but he didn’t feel like arguing those points where there was a bigger issue at hand. “But Damian will appreciate that gesture far more than any party that introduces him to society.”

 

Dick had Bruce’s full attention now. The millionaire was impressed the tutor had seen straight to the heart of the matter, although perhaps he shouldn’t have been. He knew Dick was talented.

 

“Introducing Damian to your business, giving him information on how it works and what you do, will go a long way towards making him feel more secure here. Introduce Damian to his heritage, and he will know just how much you value him.” Dick smirked. “Besides, society parties don’t seem to rank highly in Damian’s esteem.”

 

Bruce gave a relieved sigh. “Nor mine. But I just thought ….”

 

“You thought to show Damian how much you cared in a way that would let society know.” Dick supplied.

 

“Yes, but ….”

 

“It didn’t feel right?’ Dick guessed. After Bruce’s nod, he continued. “Bruce, Damian is a lot like you. Think about what you want, about what you needed when you were a child. Do what works for you two, not what society expects.”

 

“Such wise words from a tutor,” Bruce said cheekily.

 

“Oh that?” Dick laughed. “That was all circus. They don’t teach you that kind of insight at university.”

 

“No, I guess you’re right,” Bruce murmured, his mind already drifting onto a new topic. _Beauty and brains, eh? You truly are quite the specimen, Mr. Grayson._

With one last glance at Damian’s chair, Dick whisked out to the foyer where Alfred was just pronouncing Damian perfectly dressed for business.

 

**

 

 

Although Dick had lived in Gotham City for several years, he had never been up close to the Wayne Enterprises building. It was a sight to behold. Dick had been all over Europe, seen the palaces of kings and emperors, but he had never seen a skyscraper before. Wayne Tower, already a few years old and home of Wayne Enterprises, was the first US skyscraper. Its twenty stories* of sleek glass and steel dwarfed the rest of the Gotham skyline.

“It’s a stunning cathedral of modernism,” Dick pronounced.

 

“Tt. Don’t be so maudlin, Grayson,” Damian scoffed. “It’s just a building.”

 

“But aren’t you impressed by what your father has built?”

 

Damian pointed his nose in the air. “Of course I am. But a true aristocrat doesn’t let it show.”

 

Dick frowned. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not an aristocrat then because I am _in awe_.”

 

Damian smirked, then quickly hid it. “Indeed. But if you think this is impressive, wait until you see Father’s elevator.”

 

“Elevator?”

 

“Yes, it’s a box that takes you up without having to use the stairs.”

 

“You mean we won’t have to walk up all these stairs?”

 

“Of course not!” Damian sounded mildly affronted Dick would have even thought such a thing. “Father had the first passenger elevator outside of New York City. The stupid Equitable Life Building in New York was the first office building with an elevator. They beat Father by a few months,” Damian grumbled.

 

“How do you know all this?” Dick asked in amazement.

 

“I’ve been reading old newspaper articles. I found a stack in the library. I believe Pennyworth keeps them for sentimental reasons.”

 

Dick grinned. He knew taking Damian to Wayne Enterprises would be the thing to do. The boy was already fascinated by the building!

 

“Let’s go try this elevator then!” Dick announced once they had entered the building.

 

Damian turned to Dick, an imperious look on his face. “Restrain yourself, Grayson. Don’t embarrass me with your exuberance.”

 

In his best Alfred-imitation, Dick replied, “I shall endeavor not to, Master Damian.”

 

**

 

As it turned out, Dick nearly embarrassed Damian for an entirely different reason. Despite being a world-famous acrobat who was most assuredly not afraid of heights, the elevator had terrified Dick. He and Damian had been crowded into a small box with a number of other people, while a man dressed like a footman operated the controls. The ride was cramped, jerky, and stank of the gas that powered it. But what scared Dick the most was the slight kickback the elevator had after every stop, making riders think, even for half a second, that the cables had broken and the box might plummet to the ground. Even though Damian, who had ridden in elevators at some grand hotels, assured Dick they were fine, Dick felt his stomach leap into his throat at every stop (of which they were entirely too many). By floor ten, Damian had taken pity on his tutor and surreptitiously slipped his hand into Dick’s, occasionally giving the older man a small squeeze of assurance. Although the comfort made Dick’s heart soar with gratitude, anxiety largely crowded that emotion out and all Dick could give Damian in return were a few weak smiles.

 

“Thanks, Dami,” Dick panted as they finally exited on the 20th floor.

 

“Tt,” Damian said gently, which clearly meant “you’re welcome.” “Just never speak of this again.”

 

“If we can take the stairs down, you have my word.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Damian! Mr. Grayson,” boomed Bruce Wayne’s businessman-cheery voice. “Welcome to Wayne Enterprises.”

 

Bruce sidled up next to the two, waving away the business associates he had previously been talking to. “Like what you see?”

 

“Grayson adores your ‘cathedral of modernism,’ as he put it, but he cannot abide by your elevator.”

 

“Damian!” Dick hissed. “I thought we weren’t going to speak of that again.”

 

Damian arched his eyebrow at Dick. “That was not what I was referring to.”

 

Dick blushed. “It’s a beautiful building, Mr. Wayne.”

 

_And you are a most beautiful shade of rose, Dick Grayson_. Bruce thought, then immediately mentally scolded himself to snap out of it.

 

“A feat of engineering,” Damian admitted, which was high praise indeed.

 

“I’m glad you like it! A tour then?”

 

“Yes! I should like to go to shipping first and work our way back up to this floor,” Damian pronounced.

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his only indication he was surprised Damian knew what was on floor one.

 

“He’s been doing his research, even though he didn’t know we were coming,” Dick whispered to Bruce. It was important Bruce knew just how much Damian valued his father’s business legacy.

 

“I see.” Turning to his son, Bruce said, “Lead the way.”

 

Damian, with a fleeting glance at Dick, took off for the stairs, so Dick allowed himself to be steered in that same direction by Bruce.

 

“A cathedral of modernism, eh?” Bruce asked in a low tone, breath tickling Dick’s ear.

 

Dick sucked in his breath over Bruce’s closeness, but his body involuntarily blushed again at the mention of his grandiose words.

 

“Yes,” Dick admitted bashfully, not knowing how else to reply.

 

“It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called it,” Bruce replied. Then with a smirk, he gestured for Dick to go before him on the staircase. “After you.”

 

“Is that proper?” Dick asked, flushing again.

 

_It will give me a proper view of your derriere, Mr. Grayson_ , Bruce thought wickedly, even as he assured Dick there was no breach in propriety.

 

**

Hours and dozens of new acquaintances later, the trio returned to the top floor, office home of all the highest executives. A black man in an expensive suit approached them, holding out some papers.

 

“Mr. Wayne? The stock reports.” The man passed the stack to Bruce.

 

“Lucius! Thank you! And meet my son, Damian,” Bruce thrust Damian forward, “and his tutor, Mr. Grayson. This is Mr. Lucius Fox, my right-hand man. He came up from Virginia during the war. Their loss was most assuredly my gain.”

 

“Mr. Wayne,” Lucius said exasperatedly. Obviously Bruce had doled out this praise before – frequently.

 

“It’s true,” Bruce insisted.

 

“Well, yes, but - .”

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Fox,” Damian interrupted, shaking the man’s hand.

 

“The pleasure is mine,” Lucius smiled.

 

Lucius then turned to Dick. “Mr. Grayson.” The two shook hands, but Dick could only manage to stutter out, “Mmmmr. Fox.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Lucius smiled, taking pity on the tongued-tied young man.

 

Dick just nodded. His mind was reeling, preventing him from forming coherent words. A black man working for Bruce! His second in command even! And from Virginia! The trust and respect Bruce gave this man was evident from the affection with which he introduced Lucius. Dick felt hope flutter in his breast.

 

“I’ll take these to my office then.” Bruce indicated the stock reports.

 

“I would like to see them, Father,” Damian piped up.

 

Bruce was momentarily surprised, but then he shrugged. “Okay. Let’s look these over in my office.”

 

“Grayson?” Damian asked when the tutor didn’t move to follow the two Waynes.

 

Dick quickly glanced after the retreating Lucius. “I think I’ll go to the bathroom first, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course. I trust you can find it? We saw several on the tour.”

 

“Yes, thanks. I’m fine.”

 

As Bruce and Damian entered Bruce’s office, Dick turned to the office directly across the foyer from Bruce’s. He had to talk to Lucius Fox.

 

Mr. Fox’s secretary looked up at him. “May I help you?”

“I would like to meet Mr. Fox if he’s available,” Dick asked hopefully. The secretary seemed about to refuse when Lucius himself poked his head out the door.

 

“Ahh, Mr. Grayson. Do come in.”

 

Once Dick was seated and the office door shut, Lucius sat down. “Shall we skip the pleasantries? You look like you really need to talk to me.”

 

Dick nodded. “Mr. Wayne said you came from Virginia.” When Lucius nodded, Dick continued. “Did you live near the Wimbledon plantation?”

 

Lucius shook his head. “Can’t say that I did. I’ve never heard of it, and I knew the names of all the nearby plantations.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Why are you so interested in the Wimbledon plantation?”

 

“My mother grew … My mother was a slave there until she ran away.”

 

Lucius nodded. “Good for her. I didn’t leave until after the Emancipation Proclamation.”

 

“And you came to Gotham?”

 

“Yes. I started working for Wayne Shipping on the docks.” Lucius leaned back in his chair, a faraway look in his eyes. “I still remember the day Bruce Wayne showed up at the docks. October 15, 1865. He wanted to see how things worked and asked if we had any suggestions. Well, I had plenty, but I knew better than to voice them in front of my supervisor. So I told Mr. Wayne as he was leaving. He must have seen the value in my suggestions because two days later I was promoted. By 1868 I was the head of Wayne Shipping. I’ve been Bruce’s second-in-command for two years now.”

 

Dick was in awe of Lucius. “You’re wonderful, Mr. Fox. And Mr. Wayne has never held your heritage against you?”

 

Lucius shook his head. “No. And he never would.”

 

Dick nodded, mulling some things over in his head. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

Lucius smiled. He didn’t know exactly what was going on between Bruce and the tutor, but he felt sure something was. “I’m sure you are,” he assured Dick.

* * *

 

A few days later, Dick entered the schoolroom to find Alfred, feather duster in hand, gazing at a piece of paper.

 

“Alfred?” Dick asked, surprised to see the butler not dusting.

 

“Ah, Master Dick!” Alfred replied, sounding momentarily flustered. “Forgive me. I was distracted by this excellent drawing.” He gestured to one of Damian’s still lifes, which was spread before him on the desk.

 

“Oh yes! Damian’s a talent artist,” Dick said with pride in his pupil.

 

“Indeed he is. His works reminds me a bit of his father’s in his younger days.”

 

“Bruce draws?”

 

“He did. He was wonderful.”

 

Alfred looked up and met Dick’s eyes. An unspoken message of “and maybe he could be convinced to draw again” passed between them.

 

“I shall be done with the dusting momentarily, Master Dick,” Alfred said as if nothing had happened. “Can’t learn in a dusty schoolroom.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Dick murmured, already lost in thought, plotting a way to get Bruce and Damian to draw together.

**

 

Dick was scheduled to have a few hours to himself the next evening. Usually, Bruce and Damian played chess then, but Dick had something else in mind. He had been plotting it all day.

 

Seeing that it was approaching 5 PM (chess time), Dick said, “Damian, why don’t we go practice our drawing in the tea room? Alfred has set up a new bouquet that would make an excellent subject for a still life.”

 

“I’m rather tired of still lifes,” Damian replied casually.

 

_Crap!_ “Well, maybe just one more? For me?” Dick gave Damian his best pleading look.

 

“Tt. You’re such a child, Grayson. But I will draw you this one. Just this one.” Damian gave Dick a searching look, almost as if he knew something was afoot.

 

“I appreciate it.” Dick gathered his drawing items into his arms. When Damian gave him a questioning look he added, “I hope to attempt to draw this still life myself, too.”

 

Damian snorted. “That will be the day. You’re terrible at drawing, Grayson.”

 

What Damian said was true (more or less). Dick might have been better than terrible, but he was a far cry from good. “There’s always room for improvement,” Dick said cheerfully, head held high.

 

“In your case, that’s all there is.”

 

**

Exactly as Dick had planned, Bruce entered the tea room minutes after Damian had started drawing and before Dick had begun.

 

“My, look at the time!” Dick exclaimed. “Your father is here already, Damian.”

 

Damian arched an eyebrow and fixed Dick with a look. He had heard the undertone of acting in Dick’s voice. “So he is,” Damian replied, decidedly unimpressed.

 

“Am I interrupting?” Bruce asked, almost hoping he was. He hadn’t been so close to drawing supplies in a long time.

 

“Not at all! Damian and I were just going to have a little still-life-drawing competition, but you can compete in my stead!” Dick gave Damian a quick glance that said “don’t contradict me!” When Bruce appeared hesitant, Dick added, “My hand really is much too tired from writing on the chalkboard all day to give Damian adequate competition anyway.”

 

Damian almost rolled his eyes but decided to keep quiet and let this scenario play itself out. Grayson was no competition in matters of drawing, and Damian did love a challenge. Perhaps his father would be a worthy opponent.

 

Bruce, however, reached over to take Dick’s writing hand, rolling the tutor’s fingers between his own. “It wouldn’t do for you to injure yourself, Dick,” Bruce nearly whispered.

 

Dick’s breath hitched. “Yes, well…”

 

“And you have such lovely hands.”

 

“I…I…” Dick stammered, blushing.

 

Damian cast his eyes heavenward, despairing of the two. He loudly cleared his throat, which sent both men jumping away from each other. “Shall we, Father?” Damian wielded his drawing pencil like a sword.

 

“Of course, yes,” Bruce said smoothly, brushing his hands over his waistcoat like he hadn’t just been flirting with Dick in front of his son.

 

“I suppose we shall see you in a few hours, Dick?” Bruce asked as he rooted through the drawing supplies, trying to find exactly the right pencil.

 

“Yes, I -.”

 

“No, no. Grayson must stay. He needs to judge our competition,” Damian interjected.

 

“Is that really fair?” Bruce asked. “He might be partial to you since you’re his pupil.”

 

“Or he might be partial to you since he lo-.” Damian stopped, inordinately pleased by the twin expressions of panic on both his tutor and his father’s faces. “Likes getting paid,” Damian finished with a smirk.

 

“I think I’ll let you two get started while I ask Alfred for some tea,” Dick suggested. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

 

Once Dick had left, Damian turned to his father. “Grayson likes me better. Prepare to be annihilated, Father.”

 

The old competitive gleam was back in Bruce’s eye. “Son, I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

 

**

 

When Dick returned fifteen minutes later, he was stunned by how far along the two Waynes were with their still life drawings. It took him ages to draw one limp-looking flower, but Bruce and Damian had both completed rough sketches of the entire arrangement.

 

“Those are coming along nicely!” Dick announced, fortified with tea.

 

“Grayson, don’t disturb our artistic atmosphere with your asinine banalities.”

 

“Yes, Dick, you should probably come back later,” Bruce added more charitably.

 

Dick sniffed, affecting that he was upset by the rebuff. “I hope you two can agree on other things besides treating me ill,” he added melodramatically before breezing out the door.

 

Bruce laid down his pencil. “Do you think he’s upset?”

 

Damian refused to even dignify that with a look in his father’s direction. “Tt. He’s just pleased we agree on something.”

 

“I’m sure we agree on lots of things!” Bruce sounded borderline affronted.

 

Damian smirked at him. “No doubt we agree that my drawing is vastly superior to yours.”

 

“We do not agree on that, you little rascal,” Bruce insisted, snatching up his pencil again. “Just you wait and see.”

 

“I look forward to it, Father,” Damian replied coolly.

 

**

 

Outside the door, Dick smiled. He then decided to high tail it to his chamber before Alfred could catch him eavesdropping and lecture him.

* * *

 

Despite the pleas of both Waynes, Dick had held fast that the drawing match was a tie.

 

“This draw was a draw,” he chuckled, a pun he thought was quite clever but Bruce and Damian evidently disagreed.

 

Consequently, Dick had needed to assure Damian, as he helped him to bed, that he was indeed the victor and Dick just didn’t want to upset Bruce.

 

Therefore, Dick was not at all surprised when, after giving Bruce his latest update on Damian’s progress, the elder Wayne had stated, “I was the winner in that drawing match, right? You just didn’t want to upset Damian?”

 

Dick smiled fondly. How alike these two were! “Of course, Bruce.”

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Dick, as though he didn’t quite believe him. “Shouldn’t I get a prize then?”

 

“A prize?” Dick snorted. “Do you want some chocolates or cookies?”

 

Bruce tsked. “Certainly not. I was thinking of something a little more … adult.”

 

Dick felt his heart thump in his chest but he played it cool. “Oh?”

 

“Nothing tawdry mind you.” Bruce assured him. “Perhaps something chivalrous. You know, like when a knight wins a tournament for a fair lady.”

 

Dick laughed. “A fair maiden, am I?”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Bruce fumbled. “Well, I suppose I did. But I was thinking of stories like King Arthur’s Knights or Robin Hood.”

 

“Am I to be Maid Marian?”

 

“You’re more of a Robin Hood, I think.”

 

“You think I’m stealing from the rich?”

 

_You’re stealing my heart_ , Bruce thought, before shaking his head at his own insipidness. “I meant you are a merry man,” he recovered.

 

Dick snorted inelegantly before his eyes locked with Bruce’s. He could see the passion in Bruce’s eyes, and he could feel the passion in his own heart. Dick knew what had to be done, what the only suitable prize was.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

Bruce didn’t need to be told twice. **He lowered his lips to Dick’s, pressing against them in an almost tender kiss.**

**Which when their mouths met immediately blazed into something far more. It felt to Dick as though the whole world had been painted in drab colors until it blazed to life, lit by Bruce’s kiss.**

**Dick drew Bruce’s hands up to his neck, wrapping them around it, holding him closer still, so his chest was pressed against Dick’s.**

**But Dick wanted more, wanted Bruce’s body fully against his, wanted Bruce to never stop kissing him.**

**Bruce was clasping Dick on the shoulders, and Dick uttered a growl of frustration deep in his throat before taking Bruce’s hands in his, sliding them down his shoulders, down his arms, and onto his** nipples **.**

**It felt wonderful to have Bruce’s hands there** , but **he wasn’t doing anything with them, so Dick wriggled a bit, just enough for Bruce to hopefully get a hint. 1**

**When Bruce’s thumb began to move, to touch and caress Dick’s nipple, to rub so Dick arched his back and pushed even closer to Bruce, Dick felt his mouth – still touching Bruce’s, still warm and moist and wonderful – curl up into a smile, and he felt Bruce’s mouth smile in return, and then Dick slid his tongue between Bruce’s lips and licked, relishing the hitch in Bruce’s breath as he reacted.**

**The pressure of Bruce’s mouth got harder, and it seemed the intensity had increased also, as his tongue licked Dick’s, and his lips, drawing back only to ravage him again. 2**

**Meanwhile, Dick was giving as good as he got, drawing Bruce’s lower lip between his teeth and giving it a quick nip before again plunging his tongue inside Bruce’s mouth. Dick realized he was gripping Bruce’s shoulders so tight he might bruise him, so he placed his palms flat against Bruce’s chest, feeling the play and movement of Bruce’s muscles under his fingers. And then Dick found Bruce’s nipple and slide his finger over it. Bruce raised his mouth from Dick’s, and for a moment Dick was worried Bruce was going to tell him no, but Bruce just said, “I want this” then lowered his mouth down to Dick’s, allowing Dick’s hands to roam over his chest, slide** across his **nipples, down his sides, over his ribs, each area hard and firm. 3**

As they kissed, one of Bruce’s hands began to stray southward. As the hand slid towards Dick’s throbbing erection, Bruce moved to Dick’s back and began to caress Dick’s perfect ass. Sadly, though, Bruce didn’t have much room to maneuver, which was becoming increasingly obvious as his hand’s ministration kept being thwarted by the seat of Dick’s trousers. Dick removed one of his hands from its exploration of Bruce’s chest to fumble with his belt. While he managed to undo the clasp, it proved difficult for Dick to lower his trousers one handed.

 

**Bruce drew back and gazed at Dick, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth just inches from Dick’s. “Can I help you with that?” he asked in a husky voice that sent shivers down Dick’s spine.**

**Dick didn’t answer, just shifted** some more **, and Bruce took the hint, 4 **unbuttoning Dick’s trousers and pushing them off Dick’s hips. Dick stood there with just his drawers covering his backside. Bruce slid his hand inside the waistband of Dick’s drawers and ran his hand over the swell of Dick’s ass. Pulling his hand back out, Bruce gave Dick’s backside a gentle slap, delighting in the slight hitch in Dick’s breath and the twitch he felt in the tutor’s cock (pressed, as it was, up against Bruce’s leg). Without a word, Bruce slipped his arm underneath Dick’s backside and hoisted the tutor up. Dick, expert acrobat that he was, stepped out of his trousers, and proceeded to wrap his legs around Bruce’s torso. Now that the two were at an even height, they continued to kiss again in earnest.

 

Dick wrapped one hand in Bruce’s hair as the other roved across the older man’s muscular back. Bruce, meanwhile, supported Dick’s weight, especially when the younger man broke their kiss, leaned back, and started to undo Bruce’s buttons. Bruce breathed deeply as Dick undid each button, finally pulling apart Bruce’s jacket, waistcoat, and shirt to reveal the broad expanse of chest underneath. Dick hummed in delight, then unexpectedly leaned forward, licking Bruce’s right nipple.

 

Bruce sucked in his breath and tightened his grip on Dick’s ass. With a cheeky grin, Dick leaned in and licked Bruce’s other nipple, sending a second shock of pleasure straight to Bruce’s groin, where his erection pressed into Dick with increasing urgency.

 

“Kiss me,” Bruce grunted this time, and Dick obliged, first planting one on each of Bruce’s nipples before kissing his way up his employer’s neck and finally joining their mouths. As their tongues danced together, Dick’s palms splayed on Bruce’s chest while Bruce’s fondled Dick’s rear, it seemed the moment would last forever.

 

And then it was rudely interrupted by the study’s ornate grandfather clock chiming midnight.

 

Despite the clock being older than he was, Bruce was so startled he nearly dropped Dick. Sensing the moment was over, the acrobat untwined himself from Bruce and silently slipped his trousers back on, not bothering to fully close them.

 

“We should stop,” Bruce said, although it was more to convince himself than to convince Dick. The tutor, however, nodded his agreement.

 

“Yes, it’s getting late.”

 

Bruce started to button himself back up with shaky fingers, waving Dick away when the tutor offered to help.

 

“Thank you …” Bruce stopped himself. What was he going to do – thank Dick for kissing him? That wouldn’t look good; it would look even more like he was taking advantage of his employee. But he had started to talk, so he had to finish. “Thank you for doing such an excellent job with Damian.”

 

Dick gave a small half smile, managed to look dignified despite his trousers being undone and his cock standing every bit as much at attention as Bruce’s. “My pleasure,” Dick responded in a sultry voice.

 

An awkward pause then, “I will go check on Damian,” Dick suggested, slipping past Bruce and out into the night. Both of them knew Damian didn’t need to be checked on – especially not by Dick in the state he was currently in – but it was the best excuse either of them had come up with.

 

With Dick gone, Bruce poured himself a drink and sank into a chair, head in his hands. What was he thinking? He was supposed to be looking for a wife, to increase the respectability of his family. But here he was, completely focused on his son’s tutor. What was a man who wanted to do right by his son and himself to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am playing fast and loose with skyscraper history. The first skyscraper is considered to be the Home Insurance Building in Chicago built in 1884-1885. It was only ten stories high. Elevators predate skyscrapers by a long time.
> 
> 1 = [Kindle locations 3132-3141] with some modifications  
> 2 = [Kindle locations 3142-3147] with some modifications  
> 3 = [Kindle locations 3147-3155] with some modifications  
> 4 = [Kindle locations 3156-3158]
> 
> from The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me forever! I decided I wanted to rewrite the sex scene, and it took me a while to get motivated to do that.
> 
> Sex in this chapter!

A few days later, Dick and Damian were headed to the Gotham Zoo (Dick said he needed a dose of elephant), while Bruce was paying another visit to the Isley estate. As usual, the drawing room was crowded as it was afternoon calling hours. As had recently become the custom, Mrs. Isley was quick to push Bruce towards her daughter.

 

“Mr. Wayne, so good to see you again. And so soon,” Mrs. Isley added with an exceptionally pleased smile. “Do have some refreshments.” Before Bruce could object, Mrs. Isley nudged him towards a table laden with food; out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw her subtly rearrange a few guests, leaving only one open seat – the one next to Pamela.

 

_Well played, Mrs. Isley_ , Bruce thought ruefully as he took some cookies and tea cakes he didn’t much want to eat. Seeing no other choice, he then approached Pamela.

 

“May I, Miss Isley?” he asked, gesturing towards the only empty seat.

 

She smiled, seemingly with … sympathy? “You may, Mr. Wayne.”

 

Bruce sat. Miss Isley did not engage him in conversation, which reminded Bruce why he liked her so much. Nevertheless, he caught Mrs. Isley sending her daughter severe looks, which prompted Pamela to turn to him.

 

“I suppose I should start a conversation with you or I shall never hear the end of it.”

 

Bruce was a bit taken aback – few people in society were so forthright with him – but he grinned. “As you wish.”

 

“It would be the proper thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Pamela added drily.

 

“It would,” Bruce agreed. “Although it is sometimes so difficult to be proper.”

 

A corner of Pamela’s mouth turned up. “Even for you, Mr. Wayne?”

 

“Even for me.”

 

“Propriety seems to be second nature with you.” The serious mien of her face made Bruce think she might be serious, but the twinkle in her eye gave him a bit of doubt. _If she only knew_.

 

“Yes, well. I do have practice.”

 

Pamela sighed. “Don’t we all.”

_There’s a story there,_ Bruce thought, then decided to turn that to his advantage.

 

“Miss Isley, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

 

“Truthfully?”

 

“Yes. No need to stand on ceremony.”

 

“Well then.” Pamela’s eyes drifted across the room to where some other ladies her own age sat. “I would devote myself to horticulture and … my dearest friend.”

 

Bruce followed Pamela’s gaze to where it settled on a vibrant blonde. “Miss Quinn?”

 

“Yes. We belong together.”

 

Bruce nodded. “But you cannot?”

 

“A woman needs money, Mr. Wayne. Miss Quinn has very little and I shan’t inherit enough for us both.”

 

“Most unfortunate.”

 

“Too say the least. Money is freedom, Mr. Wayne. When you have as much as you do, you can afford to put your happiness first.” Pamela fixed Bruce with a knowing stare.

 

“I cann-.” Bruce started to protest, but he quickly realized Pamela was correct. He could do what he wanted. Even better, he knew what it was he wanted. The stars were in alignment!

 

Bruce rose to his feet. “It was lovely seeing you today, Miss Isley. If you ever need an investor in your horticulture business, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

 

Miss Isley smiled enigmatically. “I most certainly will, Mr. Wayne. And best wishes for your happiness.”

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, Dick and Damian were having a grand time at the Gotham Zoo. Alfred had given them some of the housekeeping money to pay for “special treats,” which Dick had used to purchase sugary treats as well as rides on both an elephant and a camel. He drew the line, however, at throwing a steak to the tigers.

 

“You let us ride the elephant and the camel, Grayson,” Damian protested.

 

“It’s not the same at all! One: we have experience with elephants and camels. I’ve ridden elephants too many times to count and you’ve done the same with camels.”

 

“I have experience with tigers,” Damian insisted. “My mother owned one. If that is your only reasoning, then I demanded money for a steak.”

 

Much as Dick wanted to ask Damian for details about his mother’s pet tiger, he knew he couldn’t get distracted.

 

“Two: tigers are dangerous!”

 

“Elephants can be, too. They could crush a person,” Damian challenged.

 

“Perhaps, but they don’t eat meat! And have you seen the ferocity with which that tiger grabs the steak,” Dick added, a tad hysterically, as he gestured towards the tiger’s cage.

 

“I have. It’s magnificent.”

 

Dick threw his hands in the air in despair. “It could rip your arm off!”

 

“Do you doubt my reflexes, Grayson!”

 

“Three,” Dick interjected, “I said ‘no.’ And I’m in charge.” Damian glared at Dick and folded his arms across his chest. “So there,” Dick added, folding his own arms across his chest and glaring back.

 

For over a minute the two were locked in a stare down. But Dick had more mettle than Damian had guessed for the tutor’s gaze never wavered. There was steel behind that smile.

 

“Fine,” Damian moped, breaking his stare. “But you really sound like a parent sometimes, you know.”

 

“I-.” But before Dick could process his thoughts or even offer a retort, a strange man sidled up to them.

 

“You wouldn’t want to sound like a parent, now would you Grayson?” he sneered. “’Cause we know how parents end up, don’t we?” A breeze caught the side of the man’s jacket, blowing it back to reveal a knife.

 

Dick’s eyes widened as he looked at the blade. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he looked at the man’s face and recognized the face of the man who had tampered with the trapeze ropes all those years ago in Virginia.

 

“You!” Dick hissed, reaching out to grab the man at the same time that the murderer reached for his knife.

 

“Grayson!” Damian shouted, flying at his tutor and knocking him to the ground, even as the man’s knife whizzed through the air, narrowly missing the tails of Damian’s waistcoat.

 

“You whelp!” the man growled, grabbing Damian by the scruff of his neck and tossing him aside.

 

“Damian!” Dick shouted from the ground, horrified to watch his pupil land with a thud. “You monster!” he screeched, kicking the man’s legs out from under him and watching as the knife went flying (thankfully in the opposite direction of Damian).

 

“If you hurt him,” Dick growled.

 

“Well, that’s really up to you, Grayson,” the man sneered as he pulled himself up and started moving away from Dick. “If you get out of Gotham within 24 hours, I’ll only kill you. If I catch you with that kid again, though.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It’s bye bye, little boy.”

 

“You!” Dick lunged for the man, but was knocked back when his assailant threw a nearby trash can at him. Dick landed in a heap on top of Damian.

 

“Oof. Get off, Grayson!” Damian barked. “You’re heavier than you look.”

 

Dick scrambled off his student. “Damian, oh my god! Are you all right?” Dick began frantically checking Damian’s extremities for signs of injury.

 

Damian swatted his hands away. “Get, get. I’m fine, Grayson,” he insisted, brushing off his now-mussed suit. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

 

“What?!”

 

“My mother provided me with tutors in the art of self-defense. I have been tossed about before.”

 

“Really?” Dick was dumbfounded.

 

“Truly.” Damian tossed his nose in the air. “Perhaps your mother should have done the same. Then I wouldn’t have had to rescue you.”

 

Dick opened his mouth to retort, but decided to let it go. “Come on. Let’s find a police officer.” Dick regretted having had his debate with Damian in such an isolated part of the zoo. It had seemed like a good idea at the time … a time before his parents’ murderer showed up.

 

“And tell them that a raving vagabond got the best of you because you can’t defend yourself?” Damian snorted. “Nonsense. We’re fine.”

 

Dick realized that Damian hadn’t heard the man’s threats; he thought this was a freak accident. He was probably also loathe to admit the “raving vagabond” had tossed him like a sack of potatoes.

 

Dick sighed. Maybe it was for the best. If no one knew why he had to get out of town, it would keep the Wayne family that much safer.

* * *

 

Bruce was pacing in his room. Dick had been missing in action since he and Damian returned from the zoo. It had been a rather stilted dinner without him, but Bruce felt he and Damian had made some conversational progress. The two had even played chess after dinner – without any prompting from the tutor. So far, the night had been a success, but Bruce was nervous. The most important part of the evening had yet to happen and Bruce couldn’t very well propose to Dick in absentia. Where was he?

 

Still, Dick’s delay gave Bruce a little more time to prepare. He still hadn’t decided on the perfect way to propose. Down on one knee seemed too cliché; plus, Bruce had some dignity and he wasn’t kneeling to a man (however much he loved him) who was technically his employee.

 

Flowers? No, too dark outside to find any. And Alfred would kill him for messing with the gardens.

 

Chocolates? He didn’t have any that Damian hadn’t already eaten as dessert that night.

 

A love song? He couldn’t sing.

 

Bruce had never been the master of the grand gesture and he wasn’t prepared to start now. With a glance at the clock, Bruce sighed. It was later than he thought. Dick was surely already asleep.

 

Tomorrow then. Maybe a proposal idea would come to him in his sleep.

 

Bruce was just beginning to undress when he heard a knock on his door. “Come in,” Bruce snapped, suspecting it was Alfred who should really know better than to bother him when he was in a mood that clearly indicated he didn’t want to be bothered.

 

But Bruce was wrong. The door swung open and there was Dick, clad in a dressing gown, an enigmatic expression on his face. Dick softly closed the door behind him and gazed at Bruce.

 

“Am I interrupting anything?”

_Only my attempts to craft the perfect proposal,_ Bruce thought. Instead he replied with a simple, “no.”

 

“Excellent,” Dick replied with a small smile. “Because I have something that’s yours.”

 

“Yyyyou do?” Bruce squeaked (not that he would ever admit it). But really, who could worry about the timber of his voice when Dick’s too big dressing gown was starting to slip off, revealing a sliver of sexy clavicle?

 

“Oh yes,” Dick purred, walking towards Bruce. He stopped right in front of his employer. “I have something very important to give you.”

 

For a moment Bruce almost fell over as all his blood rushed to his nether regions. “Yes?” He started to reach out to stroke Dick’s face when his hand made contact with – something soft?

 

“Your nightshirt.” Dick held the offending shirt, messily folded, up between him and Bruce.

 

“My nightshirt?” Bruce repeated, dazed and annoyed that his blood needed to start rushing back to his brain.

 

Dick gave a throaty chuckle. “Yes. It would be simply scandalous not to return a borrowed item.”

 

Trying to hide his disappointment, Bruce took the nightshirt from Dick. As he tossed the article aside, he noticed the monogramed BW on the breast pocket of Dick’s dressing gown.

 

Dick saw Bruce identify the dressing gown and grinned. He had borrowed this gown earlier in the evening. If he was going to leave after seducing Bruce, he wanted to do it the right way. And expensive silk dressing gowns were definitely the way to go.

 

“Anything else you want to return?” Bruce asked in a sure, commanding voice. The blood had clearly returned topside.

 

“Oh this?” Dick asked with fake innocence. “I don’t know.” Dick shrugged, allowing more of his clavicle to appear. “I’m naked underneath.”

 

Bruce instantly reached out and grabbed both ends of the dressing gown’s belt. As he reeled Dick in, he huskily replied, “Then I most assuredly want it back.”

 

Bruce pulled Dick so close that the tutor bumped against Bruce’s front. As he made contact, Dick rose up on his toes to whisper in Bruce’s ear, “So take it back. And take me, too.”

 

Bruce didn’t need to be told twice. He tilted his head down to capture Dick’s mouth with his own, reveling at the enthusiasm with which Dick kissed him back. It was as though he had tossed a drowning man a raft; Dick’s tongue plundered Bruce’s mouth as the tutor simultaneously slid his hands through Bruce’s hair.

 

Bruce pulled back to breathe. Dick looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, his delightfully kissable mouth turning down into a pout. Bruce leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on those lovely lips. He then kissed the corner of Dick’s mouth, then began to work his way down Dick’s neck to his breastbone. “You … have … entirely … too … many … clothes … on,” Bruce said, alternating his words with kisses.

 

Dick let out a soft moan as Bruce began to teasingly nibble at the base of his neck. “I ought to say that about you!” he half-heartedly protested.

 

“Too bad I said it first,” Bruce retorted, untying Dick’s dressing gown, and sliding his hands around to cup Dick’s sumptuous ass cheeks.

 

“Too bad I’m an acrobat,” Dick smirked, shifting slightly so that he could begin to undo Bruce’s shirt buttons.

 

Once Dick had removed Bruce’s shirt, he trailed his hands down the larger man’s chest, caressing Bruce’s sculpted planes. As Dick kissed a trail down Bruce’s chest towards his waistband, his began to undo the plackets of Bruce’s trousers, tugging the pants gently down in time with his kisses.

 

Feeling his trousers beginning to drop, Bruce stopped his own explorations of Dick’s body to land a light smack on the younger man’s gorgeous rear. “Oh no, you don’t,” Bruce insisted. “You came in here practically naked. You’re getting naked first.”

 

Dick almost laughed at the absurdity of it, although he also found Bruce’s reluctance to be vulnerable first strangely endearing. “Fine. But I insist you take me to bed.”

 

Bruce hitched Dick up around his waist, sending shocks of pleasure through both, as he swiftly took them both over to the bed. Sensing the bed was in the vicinity, Dick slipped his arms out of the sleeves of the dressing gown, leaned back, and, placing his hands on the mattress, did a slow backbend onto the bed. Sitting up, Dick held his fingers out to Bruce. “Come here.”

 

Bruce obeyed.

 

“It’s just wrong for you to be still clothed,” Dick murmured, continuing to kiss his way down Bruce’s torso as he shimmied his partner’s trousers lower and lower. “But this,” Dick remarked as he freed Bruce’s straining erection, “is entirely correct.”

 

Bruce gasped as Dick’s tongue swirled over his sensitive balls and a hand lazily stroked his shaft. “You like that?” Dick teased, noting the obvious arousal.

 

“I like this, too,” Bruce replied, pulling Dick up so he could capture the younger man’s mouth with his own and simultaneously push Dick back onto the bed pillows.

 

“Oooh, Bruce,” Dick moaned as Bruce’s hands roamed hungrily across his chest, tweaking his nipple and feeling its exquisite hardness. **Bruce moved his hand to Dick’s hip now, running his palm** over it, then **back on Dick’s ass, loving how lush and round he felt. Then Bruce leaned forward to capture Dick’s mouth, kissing him with an intensity that portended what they were about to do. 1**

 

Propping himself up with one arm, Bruce reached his other hand down to grip Dick’s erection, lazing stroking it. Dick’s breath hitched, and his tongue pursued Bruce’s with increased vigor.

 

Bruce broke to the kiss to smirk down at Dick. “ **Do you like this, Dick?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.**

**Dick rolled his eyes. “What do you think?” he asked with a soft laugh** , pushing himself further into Bruce’s hand, which now only loosely grasped his dick.

 

**Bruce grinned. “I want to hear you say it.”**

**Dick reached around to cup Bruce’s backside** and give it a light slap. “ **I like this, Bruce,” he said, squeezing** Bruce’s backside **for emphasis.**

**“Good.,” Bruce said, lowering his head to Dick’s neck,** who **then let out a low moan as Bruce licked the skin just behind his ear. Bruce kissed his neck, then moved lower and took Dick’s nipple in his mouth. 2 **

**Then Bruce moved lower still** , kissing a trail across Dick’s flat, muscular abdomen, and snaking down to Dick’s cock. **Bruce licked Dick with one long swipe of his tongue, and Dick bit his lip so that he wouldn’t moan so loudly that they were heard.**

**Bruce followed that up with several more long licks, and Dick couldn’t stifle his moans. Bruce lifted his head and met Dick’s** heavy-lidded **gaze. “Do you like this?” he asked, his lips curved into a very satisfied smile.**

**Dick nodded, and thankfully, Bruce didn’t demand** a coherent response, **since Dick didn’t think he could** provide one. Bruce licked Dick again, swirling his tongue over the tip, and covering the full length of the shaft with long, precise strokes, even as his hands fondled Dick’s balls.

 

Dick could feel his orgasm building with painful urgency, **and he had a grip on Bruce’s hair, and Bruce’s hands were clasping Dick’s thighs** and balls, and Bruce **was sucking and licking and blowing soft breaths on Dick’s skin that made him want to howl and moan and urge Bruce to keep doing what he was doing, only Dick really couldn’t speak, until finally, eventually, and all too soon, he exploded, feeling as though his whole body had shattered into a million stars, all of which were falling through the sky.**

**When Dick had finally recovered, Bruce had moved up to lie beside him, one long leg over Dick’s body, his hands on Dick’s** chest **, and his** still very **erect penis poking Dick’s hip.**

**“Did you like that?” Bruce asked** , although it clearly wasn’t a question. Bruce was obviously quite proud of his … bedroom skills.

 

**Dick whacked Bruce’s arm and smiled at him. “What do you think?”**

**Bruce smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I think you did.”**

**“So now let’s see about you,” Dick replied, taking Bruce’s penis in his hand. 3**

****

Dick began stroking Bruce’s cock, at first slowly but then with increasing vigor. Bruce, however, had other plans. Shifting onto his knees, Bruce gripped Dick by the hips and began to turn him over.

 

Dick chuckled. “Oh, so you’re one of those gentlemen, hmmm?” Dick flexed his fingers near Bruce’s face (it was hard for him to tell, as he was now on his front). “My manual ministrations shan’t suffice, eh?”

 

“I…I …” Bruce trailed off, realizing that he was perhaps being a tad presumptuous about Dick’s preferences.

 

Dick grinned cheekily over his shoulder. “I suppose I shall let you have your way with me, Mr. Wayne. But I demand simultaneous satisfaction.” With a seductive wink, Dick (ever the acrobat) grabbed one of Bruce’s hands and placed it on his own cock, which was roaring back to life after its first release.

 

Bruce gave Dick’s dick a squeeze, enjoying the little moan the younger man emitted. Bruce then leaned forward, brushing by Dick’s ear to whisper, “I will be delighted to oblige, Mr. Grayson.”

 

“You had better,” was all Dick said before his brain was rendered incapable of speech by Bruce both stroking his cock and licking his posterior. Moments later, Bruce slowed the pace of his “manual ministrations” as his other hand worked its way inside Dick, loosening him up. As Bruce inserted more fingers, Dick pushed back against him, letting Bruce know that he was eager for penetration. Bruce was happy to comply, filling Dick. As Bruce thrust, he continued to stroke Dick in time to his thrusting. Despite it being their first time together, the two were remarkably in sync, coming at the same moment.

 

Exhausted, Bruce pulled out of Dick and flopped down on the bed next to him, running his hand down Dick’s neck and back, coming to rest finally on the tutor’s perfectly chiseled ass cheeks. Dick smiled lovingly at Bruce before leaning over to place a chaste kiss to his lips. He then clasped Bruce’s free hand in one of his.

 

“That was wonderful,” Dick said, his expression clearly confirming the sentiments he had just voiced. Not for the first or last time, Bruce recalled how open and emotionally expressive Dick’s face was; it was just one of many things Bruce had come to love about the younger man.

 

“It was,” Bruce agreed, finding it was far easier for him to agree with Dick than to express the thoughts himself. “The best I’ve had.” And, Bruce realized, it was absolutely true; whether that was because Dick possessed unusual skill or because Bruce loved him more than he had any other partner was left unanswered (although Bruce liked to think it was both).

 

A sad smile crossed Dick’s face for a fleeting second. “I’m glad we could share this one time,” he said, stroking Bruce’s face gently with the hand that was not still holding Bruce’s.

 

“It might be one time as of now, but it soon won’t be,” Bruce announced, deciding now was his moment. “Dick, I want this to be forever.”

 

“Forever?” Dick sounded confused – or was it afraid?

 

“Forever,” Bruce answered decisively, abruptly sitting up. Bruce pulled Dick into a sitting position as well, and taking both of Dick’s hands in his own, Bruce gazed into Dick’s eyes.

 

“Dick Grayson, will you marry me?”

 

A gamut of emotions danced across Dick’s face before he turned his head sideways and looked at the bed, avoiding making eye contact with Bruce. “Bruce, I can’t. I have to leave. You and Damian aren’t safe with me here!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 = [Kindle locations 3809-3811]
> 
> 2 = [Kindle locations 3854-3860] with some omissions
> 
> 3 = [Kindle locations 3868-3884] with some modifications


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Chapter 9 was also posted today, so make sure you read both!

Bruce felt like his chest had been kicked in and his heart ripped out. He had never wanted anything so badly in his life, and to hear Dick say “no.”

 

But that wasn’t quite right, Bruce realized. Dick hadn’t said “no.” He had said he couldn’t – which was a very different thing.

 

Bruce tilted Dick’s chin up so he could look the younger man in the eyes. “Dick, what do you mean ‘you can’t’?”

 

Dick tenderly grabbed Bruce’s hand and lowered it from his chin. However, he kept ahold of it. “Bruce, I haven’t told you everything about my past.”

 

“So tell me now.”

 

“Please try not to hate me,” Dick pleaded.

 

Bruce leaned in an impulsively kissed Dick’s lips. It was a chaste, tender kiss, but full of meaning. “I won’t. I love you.”

 

“I… I love you, too,” Dick admitted shakily as he worked up the courage to tell Bruce his full origin story.

 

Bruce patiently held Dick’s hand for a few more minutes while Dick collected himself. The silence was companionable, as though they were just relaxing together and not waiting for one of the two to bare his soul to the other.

 

At last, Dick began. “So I told you my parents were Romani from Transylvania.” Bruce nodded. “Well, that’s only half true. My father was a Romani from Transylvania. My mother was from Virginia.”

 

Dick paused to look at Bruce, whose expression was one of care and concern. He motioned with his free hand for Dick to continue.

 

Dick sighed and collected himself. “My mother was a runaway slave. She fled from the Wimbledon plantation in 1850 and sought refuge in Haly’s Circus. My father hid her until the circus was on a ship, sailing across the Atlantic. They married in Italy, the circus’s first stop.”

 

Dick paused and peered closely at Bruce. “You’re not mad?”

 

“Why would I be angry?”

 

“Because I’m well … not white. And I didn’t tell you before we slept together.”

 

Bruce ran his hand through Dick’s hair. “Dick, I knew you weren’t white long before tonight. In fact, I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.” He ran his pale thumb over Dick’s brown skin. “It’s rather obvious,” he added with a slight smile, hoping to ease the tension.

 

“Yes, but this is America and Romani isn’t … black. I know about one drop and things like that.”

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

 

“Yes. My mother told me all about it. She knew women who had mostly plantation owner blood in their veins but were still slaves.”

 

“I’m sorry for what your mother went through at the hands of my fellow Americans.” Bruce replied, giving Dick’s hand a squeeze. “But your heritage doesn’t matter to me.”

 

This time it was Dick’s turn to softy kiss Bruce. “I love you,” he said in a voice that was filled with relief, admiration, and love. “All of you. From what’s here” (he tapped Bruce’s head) “to here” (he tapped Bruce’s heart) “to here.” Dick finished by patting Bruce’s naked cock, smirking as he did so.

 

Bruce gazed hungrily at Dick as he cock twitched to attention at the younger man’s caress. “So explain to me why we can’t get married?”

 

Dick’s smirk instantly disappeared. “Well, I wasn’t finished. Haly’s Circus stayed in Europe and its environs for 20 years. We didn’t return until 1870, years after the war was over and my mother – and me – officially free. We thought our problems were solved. They weren’t.”

 

Bruce had an inkling where this story was headed. “Your parents’ murder?”

 

“Yes. We had some shows in Virginia, near the old plantation. My mother was the only slave to successfully escape from the plantation and the family wanted revenge. Somehow, they figured out my mother was in the circus and hired someone to kill my family. We were all supposed to die, but the trapeze ropes broke before I left the platform. My parents plummeted to their deaths while I watched.”

 

Bruce wrapped Dick in a comforting hug, his chin resting on Dick’s head. After a few minutes, Bruce asked, “And the man who murdered your parents threatened you today?”

 

Dick moved his head out from under Bruce’s chin. “How did you -?”

 

“Damian told me during our chess match. He said a man threatened you today.”

 

“He did,” Dick admitted. “And Damian pushed me out of the way when he tried to stab me. Did he tell you that?”

 

Bruce smiled, almost proudly. “Of course.”

 

Dick smiled back but it was tinged with sadness. “I owe him my life. That man might have murdered me right there. Instead, he told me to leave Gotham within 24 hours or he would kill Damian before he killed me.”

 

“So that’s why you can’t marry me? Because some thug from Virginia plans to murder you?”

 

“Yes.” Dick’s reply was resolute, as though his line of thinking made perfect sense.

 

“So you intend to leave here and essentially seal your own death warrant? You must know this man won’t leave you alone.”

 

“Yes, I know. But I can’t let Damian or you or anyone else come to harm.”

 

Bruce shook his head fondly, amazed at Dick’s selfless – but foolish – behavior. “You can’t do this Dick.”

 

“I can’t let you or Damian die!”

 

“We have to stop this man, Dick. Surely you can see that?”

 

“How? He murdered my parents and there wasn’t anything I could do about it?”

 

Bruce patted Dick’s hand. “Dick, you forget. You’re in Gotham now. I can take care of this.”

 

“You can?”

 

“Absolutely. This man threatened my son and the love of my life. He will be taken care of.”

 

“Don’t admit I’m the love of your life yet,” Dick said. “Much as I love to hear you say it, don’t let this man know.”

 

Bruce considered. “A good point. But this man threatened my son and my son’s tutor, who I struggled to find. Bruce Wayne is not the kind of man that lets these types of wrongs go unpunished.”

 

“So you’ll get justice for my parents?”

 

“Maybe not for their murder, since that happened in Virginia, but certainly for the threats.”

 

“That’s better than nothing, which is what I could get on my own.”

 

“I’m sorry it won’t be the justice they deserve, but it will be something.”

 

“Something is better than nothing,” Dick admitted pragmatically.

 

“Indeed. With that line of thinking, could I have some answer to my question?”

 

Dick looked confused for a moment, but soon his face lit up in understanding. “All signs are looking good, but I need to wait until I know for certain you and Damian are safe.”

 

Bruce looked a bit irritated. “I understand.”

 

Dick kissed the corner of Bruce’s mouth and gave him a cheeky grin. “It might not be the answer you need right now, but it’s the answer you deserve, given the circumstances.”

* * *

 

 

The next day, Bruce only felt confident enough to leave Wayne manor after both Alfred and Damian had assured him they wouldn’t let Dick out of sight. Damian, in particular, seemed eager to help.

 

“You have my word, Father. I will watch Grayson like a hawk.”

 

“Thank you, Damian.”

 

“I would hate to lose him.”

 

Bruce favored Damian with a pleased expression that nevertheless promised something sappy to come. Damian wanted to forestall that.

 

“It is, after all, so very tedious to find tutors in this city.”

 

Bruce half-smirked. “Indeed.”

 

Damian looked at the ceiling. “And I know what he means to you, Father.”

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

“Yes. And I approve.”

 

Bruce bit back his initial reaction (a startled “you do?”) and instead offered, “Thank you, Damian. That means a lot to me.”

 

“You’re welcome, Father. Now go catch this villain before Grayson absconds and you end up marrying a _woman_.” Bruce almost laughed at how much distaste Damian had managed to convey in the word woman, but held his tongue. Now was not the time to rock the boat.

 

“Very well. I’m off to see Mr. Dent. I expect to see a hale and hearty tutor when I return.”

 

Damian smirked. “If he isn’t hale, he will only have himself to blame. We’re practicing knife throwing today.”

 

Bruce grimaced. “Have a good day, son.” He reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, but Damian stopped him and gave him a hand shake.

 

“Only Grayson may tousle my hair,” the child insisted.

 

“Fine, So long as that means I’m the only one who can tousle Dick’s hair,” Bruce quipped.

 

Damian screwed up his face in disgust. “Take your sentimentality and get out.”

 

As Bruce left the house, Dick sneaked in the foyer from the back. He reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair.

 

“Hey!” Damian grabbed his tutor’s hand and pulled it away.

 

“But Dami, you said I could!”

 

Damian’s eyes widened. “You heard that?”

 

Dick grinned. “Mmm-hmm.”

 

“Drat.”

 

“I also heard you approve of me and your father.”

 

“You are the lesser of evils, Grayson. You won’t have a baby to replace me.”

 

Dick chuckled. “No one could replace you, Dami.”

 

“I should think not. I am irreplaceable, one of a kind.”

 

“That you are, kiddo. That you are.” And Dick led his pupil to the schoolroom.

* * *

 

 

In town, Bruce was meeting with Harvey Dent.

 

“Harvey, you’ve got to catch this man! He threatened Dick and my son.”

 

“Dick?” Harvey smirked.

 

“Not the point, Harvey.” Bruce couldn’t be bothered with innuendo right now. “We need to stop this man. My family isn’t safe otherwise.”

 

Harvey held his hands out in a placating gesture. “I’m with you, Bruce. But we don’t know who this man is. How are we going to find him?”

 

Bruce paused to think for a moment. “The train station!”

 

“He likes trains?”

 

“No, he’s expecting Dick to leave Gotham tonight. He’ll be waiting for him at the train station.”

 

Harvey stroked his chin in thought. “Ahhh, yes. We lay a trap for him.”

 

“A trap?”

 

“Yes. Is ‘Dick’ up for serving as bait?”

 

Bruce’s mouth dropped open.

 

“It would be the best, most efficient way, Bruce.”

 

Bruce snapped his mouth shut. “I suppose,” he ground out.

 

“Good. We’ll meet at 8 o’clock tonight at Central Station. There’s a train that leaves for New York City at 9. You bring the tutor and I’ll bring the police.”

* * *

 

“Can you handle this on your own, Grayson?” Damian asked. Despite Bruce’s better judgment, his son had insisted on coming, and Damian’s will was stronger than a hurricane. Eventually, the father had relented.

 

“Of course, Dami,” Dick said, although his voice seemed a tad nervous.

 

“Because I could protect you,” Damian added. “As you know, I am well trained.”

 

Dick smiled appreciatively. “I know, Dami. But remember: I’m just bait. The police will be right there. No reason to get extra people involved.”

 

“I hope the police are competent,” Damian huffed. Mentally, Bruce agreed with his son, but he didn’t dare voice the sentiment. Dick had already chastised him for it when he had privately offered to protect Dick out of fear the police would bungle things.

 

“The police will do a good job, Damian,” Dick patiently explained. “These are men Jim Gordon once trained. They’ll be great.”

 

Damian didn’t look convinced, but he wisely kept his mouth shut once Dick had invoked his second father, Jim Gordon.

 

As the carriage rolled to a stop before the train station, Dick turned to the Waynes. “Dami, Bruce. Remember to keep out of sight. I don’t want him to hurt either of you.”

 

“Obviously, Grayson,” Damian scoffed.

 

Bruce, however, was more preoccupied with greeting Harvey and the officer the DA had in tow.

 

“Bruce, this is Detective Harvey Bullock. The best detective on the force. Or so I’m told.”

 

“You were told right,” Bullock groused. He stuck his hand out to shake. “Wayne.” Bruce returned the handshake.

 

“Detective Bullock. I do hope you can capture this reprobate. The safety of my son and his tutor depend on it.”

 

“Consider it done, Wayne,” Bullock began. “Anything for the former Commish’s friend.”

 

Bruce was about to compliment Jim Gordon when he realized Bullock had meant Dick, who had stuck his head out of the carriage door.

 

“Harvey!” he exclaimed happily. “You’re in charge here?”

 

“You betcha, kid. Jim wouldn’t be too happy if I let ya die.”

 

Dick smiled as he hopped down from the carriage. “I don’t suppose he would, now that you mention it.”

 

Bullock gently grabbed Dick’s shoulder and began steering him away. “Let’s go meet the other officers and set up this sting.”

 

Dick allowed himself to be led away, but he did cast a glance backwards at Bruce, catching his love’s eye and mouthing “don’t worry.” Bruce rather wished he had the same confidence in this gruff detective that Dick did.

 

Turning to Dent, Bruce demanded, “Is this going to work, Harvey?”

 

“Calm down, Bruce,” Harvey replied. “It will be fine.” Harvey turned partially away from Bruce before smirking and adding, “Besides, it’s just your kid’s tutor.”

 

Bruce nearly punched Harvey, who deftly ducked the swinging fist. “He’s more than that!”

 

Harvey gripped Bruce by the shoulders. “Calm down, calm down. I was only jesting. Of course, now I’m wondering just how much more he is to you.” Dent grinned wickedly.

 

Bruce scowled. “Much more. And that’s all the answer you’re getting right now, Harv,” Bruce added when he saw Dent’s mouth opening.

 

“Sorry I asked,” Harvey whistled with amusement.

 

“Tt. You should be,” Damian added. Rather than feel chastised, Harvey nearly laughed at the identical expressions and stances both piqued Waynes bore.

 

“Let’s go get some coffee,” Harvey suggested. “There’s a café nearby and we can’t pass the time inside.”

 

“Only if you promise to have us here before 9, when this villain shows up,” Bruce insisted.

 

“Of course,” Harvey promised, even though he intended to do no such thing. Bruce and Damian would only get in the way and possibly give the sting away.

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Harvey, suspecting something was afoot, but allowed himself and Damian to be led away anyway.

* * *

 

It was ten minutes to nine, and the conductor was shouting for passengers to New York City to board the train. Dick had strategically positioned himself by the caboose door, waiting until the last minute to “board.” He suspected that would make sense; as far as his pursuer knew, he was reluctant to leave Gotham.

 

“Circus brat,” said a sneering voice, and Dick jerked around to see the murderer behind him. “Took my advice, I see.”

 

Dick walked towards the man. “You didn’t leave me much choice. I won’t risk the lives of others.”

 

“Such a hero. Too bad your sacrifice will be in vain. I’m gonna kill that little half-Arab brat anyway. Gotham doesn’t need his kind.”

 

“But you -!”

 

“I lied.” The man shrugged. “Nothing personal. Although this is.” With that, be pulled a knife out of his pocket and rushed at Dick.

 

“How dare you threaten Damian,” Dick fumed, advancing towards his assailant. Desire to defend Damian had made him heedless of his own safety.

 

But the murderer had underestimated Dick’s reflexes. When his first knife thrust missed, Dick easily kicked the man’s legs out from under him.

 

“All aboard!” shouted a conductor.

 

Dick moved to jump on the train as the police rapidly advanced.

 

“You won’t get away that easily, slave scum!” The man suddenly pulled a pistol out of his coat and aimed at Dick.

 

“He’s got a gun!” Bullock shouted. “Drop it or we shoot!”

 

The man glared at Dick as he took in the assembled array of officers surrounding him. “What’s this world coming to when the cops defend half-breeds.” With that, he pulled back his trigger and -.

 

A volley of gunfire sounded, creating a cloud of smoke.

 

At that moment, Bruce, Damian, and Harvey returned.

 

 “Dick!” Bruce shouted desperately. “Dick!”

 

“Bruce, let the police handle it,” Harvey said, trying to hold Bruce back. The effort was futile. Bruce easily broke free of Harvey’s grasp and ran towards the now vanishing train caboose, waving his arms to clear away the smoke from the police pistols.

 

“Dick!” Bruce shouted frantically, pushing a few police officers aside in his haste.

 

Then, there he was. Bruce gasped when he saw his love lying on the ground. There was blood on Dick’s suit and a small pool near his head.

 

“Dick, are you all right?” Bruce asked, kneeling beside the younger man as he sent up silent prayers to all the deities he had ever encountered, pleading for Dick to be okay. “Dick!” Bruce gave him a shake.

 

“Bruce?” Dick asked, a bit too loudly and with slight confusion.

 

“I’m here, Dick. Where does it hurt?” Bruce helped Dick to his feet, supporting his weight, relieved to see he could stand. “What about your arm?” Bruce ran his hands down Dick’s arms, trailing over blood but Dick’s didn’t make any sound or react like he was in pain.

 

“My ear hurts,” Dick admitted, cradling it.

 

“Your ear?” Bruce was confused. Hadn’t Dick been shot in the arm?

 

“Yes, I think one of the pistols went off a little too near my head. My ears are still ringing.”

 

Oh.” Bruce let out a sigh of relief until he remembered Dick’s arm. “And your arm?”

 

Dick turned his head to look at his arm. “Hmmm. That’s not my blood. See?” He removed his waistcoat, and Bruce was relieved to see his shirt was blood-free.

 

“Can you walk then?”

 

Dick grinned. “Yes, but it feels nice leaning against you.”

 

Bruce smirked and whispered in Dick’s ear, “well, I do hope this will be happening often.”

 

“Why Mr. Wayne!” Dick teased, affecting he was scandalized.

 

“Mr. Wayne? Mr. Grayson?” Bullock stepped up to them and the flirting immediately stopped.

 

“Yes?” Bruce answered for the pair.

 

“We need you to identify the body.”

 

“He – he’s dead?” Dick asked, voice trembling.

 

Bullock nodded. “He pulled a gun on you. We defended the citizenry.”

 

Dick nodded and obligingly followed Bullock to the sheet-covered body. Once he arrived, the sheet was removed and Dick looked into the face of his parents’ killer, his own would-be murderer.

 

“It’s him.”

 

“Thank you for the confirmation.”

 

“Is that him?” intercut Damian’s voice, suddenly right beside Dick and Bruce.

 

“Damian, you shouldn’t see this,” Dick said worriedly, trying to shield his pupil from the dead body.

 

“Nonsense.” Damian pushed Dick out the way and moved towards the body. “I can identity him, too. After all, he also threatened me.”

 

After an oblique nod from Bruce, Bullock pulled the sheet down again. “It’s him,” Damian pronounced with authority. He gave Dick’s hand a fleeting, surreptitious squeeze. “I’m glad the murderer of someone’s parents has been brought to justice.”

* * *

 

Bruce had suspended lessons for the following day, deciding both Dick and Damian needed time to recover from the trials of the previous day. Consequently, the sun was high in the sky by the time Dick had awakened, dressed, and made it downstairs.

 

As he passed a grandfather clock, Dick saw it was nearly 10:30. _Much too late for breakfast_.

 

Strangely enough, however, Alfred, Bruce, and Damian were nowhere to be found. Dick had hoped he might be able to at least wheedle a snack out of Alfred, but neither hide nor hair could be found of the man in the kitchen.

 

Puzzled, Dick wandered around the house until he came to the drawing room. The doors were closed, but Dick thought he heard voices. “Bruce? Damian?”

 

“Come in, Dick,” Bruce replied.

 

Relived to have located other people, Dick opened the door. He was greeted with not just Bruce and Damian, but Alfred, Jim, Barbara, and Wally.

 

“What are you doing here?” Dick asked with joy as he went to hug Barbara, Jim, and Wally in greeting.

 

“I invited them here,” Bruce replied. “To celebrate.”

 

Dick quirked an eyebrow at Bruce.

 

“I hope I am not being presumptuous, but I had hoped to announce our engagement. I believe you promised me a wedding if … certain loose ends were taken care of.”

 

Dick beamed. “I would like nothing more than to keep my promise.”

 

Now it was Bruce’s turn to beam. “If I may, then?” Bruce turned to the crowd who all had looks of great anticipation even though they knew what was coming. “I would like to announce my engagement to Richard John Grayson.”

 

“Huzzah!” Barbara, Jim, and Wally cheered, while Alfred suddenly started passing around champagne flutes.

 

“Cheers!”

 

After everyone (minus Damian) had taken a sip of champagne, Wally chanted, “kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

 

“Wally!” Barbara mildly scolded, although the mischievous look she gave Dick indicated she wanted Dick and Bruce to kiss as well.

 

Dick smiled up at Bruce. “Shall we give the people what they want?”

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

Bruce leaned down to capture Dick’s lips in his own while Wally hooted in a most unseemly fashion. As Bruce pulled away, he whispered in Dick’s ear, “ I – I love you.”

 

“I know,” Dick cheekily replied, “and I love you, too.”

 

The END!

 

* * *

 

And they all lived happily - and sexily - ever after!

Thank you for reading and commenting and kudoing. It has really meant a lot to me. This was fun to write, and I'm glad other people enjoyed it.


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